Summary

A Medley of Weather Lore

A January spring
Is worth no thing.
Pluck broom, broom still,
Cut broom, broom kill.
Tusser.
Good gardener mine,
Make garden fine,
Set garden pease,
And beans if ye please.
Set respis and rose,
Young roots of those.
Who now sows oats
Gets gold and groats.
Who sows in May,
Gets little that way.
Tusser.
[16]
A kindly good January freezeth pot by the fire.
O Winter! wilt thou never—never go!
O Summer! but I weary for thy coming!
David Gray.
If the robin sings in the bush, then the weather will be coarse; but if the robin sings on the barn, then the weather will be warm.
Source: Gutenberg

A Medley of Weather Lore

Oh! the rosy month of June I hail as summer's queen;
The hills and valleys sing in joy, and all the woods are green;
And streamlets flow in gladsome song, the birds are all in tune;
And Nature smiles in summer's pride, in the rosy month of June.
[70] The sixth month of the year
Is the month of June,
When the weather's too hot to be borne,
The master doth say,
As he goes on his way,
"To-morrow my sheep shall be shorn."
Somerset.
Here the rosebuds in June and the violets are blowing,
The small birds they warble from every green bough
Source: Gutenberg

A Medley of Weather Lore

And the baziers (auriculas) are sweet in the morning of May.
When the trees are in bloom, and the meadows are green,
The sweet smiling cowslips are plain to be seen;
The sweet ties of Nature, which we plainly do see,
For the baziers are sweet in the morning of May.
Lancashire.
[55]
Summer is near, and buttercups blow,
And sunshine glimmers aloft;
And winds play tunes which merrily flow,
Though in melody mellow and soft;
Then sing the song of the green spring-time,
The season of promise and bloom,
When buds have birth, and the gladdened earth
Awakes from her wintry tomb.
Source: Gutenberg

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