Here you will find the Poem On the Dark, Still, Dry Warm Weather of poet Gilbert White
Th'imprison'd winds slumber within their caves Fast bound: the fickle vane, emblem of change, Wavers no more, long-settling to a point. All nature nodding seems compos'd: thick steams From land, from flood up-drawn, dimming the day, "Like a dark ceiling stand:" slow thro' the air Gossamer floats, or stretch'd from blade to blade The wavy net-work whitens all the field. Push'd by the weightier atmosphere, up springs The ponderous Mercury, from scale to scale Mounting, amidst the Torricellian tube. While high in air, and pois'd upon his wings Unseen, the soft, enamour'd wood-lark runs Thro' all his maze of melody; -- the brake Loud with the black-bird's bolder note resounds. Sooth'd by the genial warmth, the cawing rook Anticipates the spring, selects her mate, Haunts her tall nest-trees, and with sedulous care Repairs her wicker eyrie, tempest torn. The plough-man inly smiles to see upturn His mellow glebe, best pledge of future crop: With glee the gardener eyes his smoking beds: E'en pining sickness feels a short relief. The happy school-boy brings transported forth His long-forgotten scourge, and giddy gig: O'er the white paths he whirls the rolling hoop, Or triumphs in the dusty fields of taw. Not so the museful sage: -- abroad he walks Contemplative, if haply he may find What cause controuls the tempest's rage, or whence Amidst the savage season winter smiles. For days, for weeks, prevails the placid calm. At length some drops prelude a change: the sun With ray refracted bursts the parting gloom; When all the chequer'd sky is one bright glare. Mutters the wind at eve: th' horizon round With angry aspect scowls: down rush the showers, And float the delug'd paths, and miry fields.