Michael Villiers, Idealist :: :: University of Virginia Library

Three little noses are flattened against the pane;
Three little rosy mouths are bemoaning the rain;
Saint Swithun is christening the apples with might and with main.
‘O Saint Swithun, Saint Swithun,’ the children say,
‘Surely you've christened the apples enough to-day.’

‘Rain, rain,’ say the children, ‘be off to Spain!
Never, never, we charge you, come back again!
We want to run in the garden, and down comes the rain!
O Saint Swithun, Saint Swithun,’ the children plead,
‘We want our run in the garden, we do indeed.

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‘Dear Saint Swithun, our lessons have been so long;
Dreadful sums, Saint Swithun, that would come wrong!
We wanted to dance a little, or sing a song,
And now we are free, Saint Swithun, we're kept indoors,
For, because you are christening the apples, it pours and pours.

‘Good Saint Swithun, our lessons are over and done;
Kind Saint Swithun, we're longing to take a run;
When you were young, Saint Swithun, you liked some fun.
O Saint Swithun, Saint Swithun,’ the children cry,
‘Why should you christen the apples in mid July?

‘Leggies get cramped, Saint Swithun, indeed, if they stay
Out of the orchard and garden the live-long day:
It's all very well in winter to play house-play,
But, oh, in the summer, with birdies and blossoms and bees,
Who could in the house be contented, Saint Swithun, please?

‘We don't mind the rain, not an atom: away we should get
From the schoolroom, bare-headed, bare-footed, out into the wet,

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If only they'd let us—but that they have never done yet;
And you might as well ask them to—cook us and eat us, you see,
For in some things grown-up folk and children can't ever agree.’

Now hurrah for Saint Swithun! The rain is o'er;
Out comes the sun in his glory—they make for the door—
Six little feet a-patter, a joyous uproar;
‘Hey! for Saint Swithun, Saint Swithun,’ the children shout;
‘Hats and boots—not a moment to lose till we're out.’

Hark at the birds and the children! Oh, merry and sweet
Rings out the laugh of the children, and quick are their feet.
Hey! for the sunshine of summer, its light and its heat.
Where are ye now, little children? Oh, far away,
Though Saint Swithun is christening the apples again to-day.

Hone mentions a saying current in some parts of the country when rain falls on S.t. Swithun's Day; ‘St. Swithun is christening the apples.’