The quiet rains drifts over,
As grey as spreaders' strands,
Weaving a web that covers
The emerald pasture-lands.
Behind it dream the fallows,
The little lakes and rills,
And fields with tumbled hay-stacks
That flank the rounded hills.
The quiet rain drifts over
And shrouds my heart with grey --
But 'neath it lovely reaches
Of joy are hid away!
First published in The Australian Woman's Mirror, 28 July 1925
