Robert Graves (1895–1985). Fairies and Fusiliers. 1918.
14. Sorleys Weather
W
Comes leaping helter-skelter,
Shall I tie my restive brain
Snugly under shelter?
Here in my firelit study,
When outside the winds blow strong
And the lanes are muddy?
Am I to fill my belly?
Shall I glutton here with Keats?
Shall I drink with Shelley?
Poetry makes both better.
Clay is wet and so is mud,
Winter rains are wetter.
For though the winds come frorely,
I’m away to the rain-blown hill
And the ghost of Sorley.