An ode.it reads:
Return, they say, should bring the rains again
A collection of the winter's discontents
Liquified, cold held them all the same
Till under cloud they grant us recompense.
What did we do, we all must wonder now
To deserve so rich a reconciliation
There is hardly days enough just to allow
Us to discern anew our reprobation.
If call of thunder was ever to be heard
I'm certain that now we would be listening
But quiet murmurs, a distant passing word
Whisper with the streams that now are glistening.
An omen then, a wiser man than I
Could in these boundless signs perhaps espy.