A chilling rain drizzles down as if through a sieve;
A patchwork of color now blankets the black fields.
The horses have grown restless—oh, to tighten the reins!
But the carriage is not mine. Alas, I cannot steal it away!
A carriage rushes past, with a coachman perched on the box,
Soaked through by the rain, looking just like a sparrow.
Pulled by a pampered trotter that has never known the plow,
Life races by in a wild daush—and just try to keep up…Pox!