ars to the sea-wrack, his ardent blood to the liquid fire?

...His origins mattered little to him at this moment; he was resting
peacefully in his marl-pit. It was in a sultry August toward the end
of a heavy afternoon. The sky was of the deep-blue color of a plum,
puffed out here and there, as if ready to burst upon the plain.

Soon the rain began to patter on the leaves of the brake. Faster and
faster came the drumming of the long rods of rain. But Rabbit was not
afraid, because the rain fell in accordance with a rhythm which was
very familiar to him. And besides the rain did not strike him for it
had not yet been able to pierce the thick vault of green above him. A
single drop only fell to the bottom of the marl-pit, and splashed and
always fell again at the same place.

So there was nothing in this concert to trouble the heart of Rabbit.
He was quite familiar with the song in which the tears of the rain
form the strophes, and he knew that neither dog, nor man, nor fox, nor
hawk had any part in it. The sky was like a harp on which the silver
strings of the streaming rain were strung from above down to the
earth. And down here below every single thing made this harp resound
in its own peculiar fashion, and in turn it again took up its own
melody. Under the green fingers of the leaves the crystal strings
sounded faint and hollow. It was as though it were the voice of the
soul of the mists.

The clay under their touch sobbed like an adolescent girl into whom
the south wind has long blown inquietude. There where the clay was
thirstiest and driest was heard a continual sound as of drinking, the
panting of burning lips which yielded to the fullness of the storm.

The night which followed the storm was serene. The downfall of rain
had almost evaporated. On the green meadow where Rabbit was in the
habit of meeting his beloved, nothing was left of the storm, except
ball-like masses of mist. It looked as though they were paradisiacal
cotton-plants whose downy whiteness was bursting beneath the flood of
moonlight. Along the steep banks of the river the thickets, heavy with
rain, stood in rows like pilgrims bowed down under the weight of their
wallets and leather-bottles. Peace reigned. It was as though an
angel had rested his forehead in a hand. Dawn shivering with cold was
awaiting her sister the day, and the bowed-down leaves of grass prayed
to the dawn.

And suddenly Rabbit crouching in the midst of his meadow saw a ma