When the North wind blowing fair Sweeps the floor of Heaven bare, All the storm-clouds gleaming white Vanish in a single night ; Good-bye heat and pelting rain, Cool November s come again.
When the wandering river's force Dwindles to its proper course, And the listless waders stand Round the broadening isles of sand ; When the little streams run dry, Heat and pelting rain, good-bye.
When the bison leaves the plain For the wooded hills again, And the sportsman one by one Counts the trophies of his gun ; When the wild-duck southward fly, Pelting rain and heat, good-bye.
When the pale sun's welcome ray Drives the morning mists away, And the dewdrop's threaded gem Links the forest, stem to stem ; When the world feels clean and sweet, Good-bye, pelting rain and heat.
Published in the "Songs of Burma" (Vol. I.)A by Messrs. Swinhoe and Alves, Copyright, Messrs. Boosey e Co.
When the mountains come in view Clear-cut 'twixt the green and blue, And the palm-tree's matted crown Flings the dead fronds rattling downa When the tall grass plumes appear All may tell Novembers near.
r. s.r. s.