The heather was wet beneath us—
But we, what did we care!
Brown and wet was the heather
As your tangled wet brown hair:
While the larks in the rainy lift were singing;
And our hearts were as larks in the air.

The larks soared into the rain-cloud
That could not quench their mirth—
The golden fire of their singing:
And we lay on the wet brown earth,
In the drench of rain and golden music
That ended drought and dearth.