The sky saggs low with convoluted cloud.
Heavy and imminent, rolled from rim to rim.
And wreaths of mist beveil the further brim
Of the leaden sea, all spiritless and cowed.
The rain is falling sheer and strong and loud.
The strand is desolate, the distance grim
With stormful threats, the wet stones glister dim.
And to the wall the dank umbrellas crowd.
At home! — the soaked shrubs whisper dismal-mooded.
The rails are strung with drops, and steeped the grasses,
Black chimney-shadows streak the shiny slates.
A draggled fishwife screeches at the gates,
The baker hurries dripping on, and hooded
In her stained skirt a pretty housemaid passes.
