Windy Haymaking

'Tis murk upon the hills, but scarce a drop is flung,
Nor down the sombre wood descends the pigeon-breast
Of cloud to moistness turned, with vapour-feathers hung,
As when we look for rain: between the south & west.

Old Richard & his wife have seven children, strong
As little ponies each to help at work & eat.
The host are out afield & tossing with the prong
Their lumps of hay whose wisps fly scattered like to sleet.
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