The Rain on the Mountainside

The rain is on the mountainside
The beast is in the silent meadow,
The north countryside is patiently waiting again
Blackbird is dumb in the juniper
Lapwing shivers in the dripping thicket
Down in the stone-faced town, one door opens

For though the weather blow wild
I see the shepherd step up to his moorside
And in despite of the cold
The poor farmer going to his meadow below
Going to his meadow below

When the birch tree is agonised
And when the little river is tormented
The land on its knees, the house on its hunkers
There is a figure moving by the wall
Leaning for breath upon a stony shoulder
His eyes to the skies seldom lifted

For though the weather blow wild
I see the shepherd step up to his moorside
And in despite of the cold
The poor farmer going to his meadow below
Going to his meadow below

North-Country countryside
The grim indifference of your nature
Most other men would turn, stumbling homeward
But this one is a different kind
He knows the pinches of an older hunger
A greater storm than yours in his heart rages

For though the weather blow wild
I see the shepherd whistling on his moorside
And in despite of the cold
The poor farmer singing in his meadow below
Singing in his meadow below