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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350470" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Song From A Sandhill</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Drip, drip, drip! It tinkles on the fly— <br>The pitiless outpouring of an overburdened sky: <br>Each drooping frond of pine has got a jewel at its tip— <br>First a twinkle, then a sprinkle, and a drip, drip, drip. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Drip, drip, drip! They must be shearing up on high. <br>Can't you see the snowy fleeces that are rolling, rolling by? <br>How many bales, I wonder, are they branding to the clip? <br>P'r'aps the Boss is keeping tally with this drip, drip, drip. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Drip, drip, drip! while the sodden branches sigh: <br>The jovial jackass dare not laugh for fear that he should cry: <br>The merry magpie's melody is frozen on his lip; <br>He glowers at the showers, with their drip, drip, drip. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Drip, drip, drip! and one's ‘nap' is far from dry: <br>'Tis hard to keep the water out, however one may try: <br>I'd sell myself to Satan for three fingers of a nip: <br>There's cramps and vile rheumatics in that drip, drip, drip. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pat, pat, pat! how it patters on the land! <br>'Tis certainly consoling to be camped upon the sand: <br>There's naught but mud and water over yonder on the flat, <br>Where the spots of rain are splashing with their pat, pat, pat. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rain, rain, rain! and the day is nearly done: <br>I wonder shall we see another rising of the sun? <br>Has the sky shut down and stifled him; or will he come again <br>And stop the cursed clatter of this rain, rain, rain? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Drop, drop, drop! monotonous as Life, <br>With now and then a western breeze that cuts one like a knife: <br>Sputter on the fire: is it never going to stop? <br>Has the weather-clerk gone crazy, with his drop, drop, drop? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Drip, drip, drip! the squatter wouldn't say <br>‘Thank God!' so earnestly if he were camped in it to-day. <br>'Tis in at last: I knew it! there's a pool about my hip: <br>Oh, 'tis maddening and sadd'ning, with its drip, drip, drip!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Barcroft+Henry+Thomas+Boake">Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350470" data-title="A Song From A Sandhill de Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake" data-description="Drip, drip, drip! It tinkles on the fly— 
The pitiless outpouring of an overburdened sky: 
Each drooping frond of pine has got a jewel at its tip— 
First a twinkle, then a sprinkle, and a drip, drip, drip. 

Drip, drip, drip! They must be shea..."></div>
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