Who is not awed that listens to the Rain,
Sending his voice before him?
Yet look again, for the clouds divide; A gleam of blue on the water lies; And far away, on the mountain-side,
A sunbeam falls from the opening skies. But the hurrying host that flew between The cloud and the water, no more is seen; Flake after flake,
At rest in the dark and silent lake.
THESE strifes, these tumults of the noisy world, Where Fraud, the coward, tracks his prey by stealth, And Strength, the ruffian, glories in his guilt, Oppress the heart with sadness. Oh, my friend, In what serener mood we look upon The gloomiest aspects of the elements
Among the woods and fields! Let us awhile, As the slow wind is rolling up the storm, In fancy leave this maze of dusty streets, Forever shaken by the importunate jar Of commerce, and upon the darkening air Look from the shelter of our rural home.
Who is not awed that listens to the Rain, Sending his voice before him? Mighty Rain! The upland steeps are shrouded by thy mists; Thy shadow fills the hollow vale; the pools No longer glimmer, and the silvery streams Darken to veins of lead at thy approach. O mighty Rain! already thou art here; And every roof is beaten by thy streams,
And, as thou passest, every glassy spring Grows rough, and every leaf in all the woods Is struck, and quivers. All the hill-tops slake Their thirst from thee; a thousand languishing fields A thousand fainting gardens, are refreshed; A thousand idle rivulets start to speed, And with the graver murmur of the storm Blend their light voices as they hurry on.
Thou fill'st the circle of the atmosphere Alone; there is no living thing abroad, No bird to wing the air nor beast to walk The field; the squirrel in the forest seeks His hollow tree; the marmot of the field Has scampered to his den; the butterfly Hides under her broad leaf; the insect crowds, That made the sunshine populous, lie close In their mysterious shelters, whence the sun Will summon them again. The mighty Rain Holds the vast empire of the sky alone.
I shut my eyes, and see, as in a dream, The friendly clouds drop down spring violets And summer columbines, and all the flowers That tuft the woodland floor, or overarch The streamlet:-spiky grass for genial June, Brown harvests for the waiting husbandman, And for the woods a deluge of fresh leaves.
I see these myriad drops that slake the dust, Gathered in glorious streams, or rolling blue In billows on the lake or on the deep, And bearing navies. I behold them change To threads of crystal as they sink in earth And leave its stains behind, to rise again In pleasant nooks of verdure, where the child, Thirsty with play, in both his little hands
Shall take the cool, clear water, raising it To wet his pretty lips. To-morrow noon How proudly will the water-lily ride The brimming pool, o'erlooking, like a queen, Her circle of broad leaves. In lonely wastes, When next the sunshine makes them beautiful, Gay troops of butterflies shall light to drink At the replenished hollows of the rock.
Now slowly falls the dull blank night, and still, All through the starless hours, the mighty Rain Smites with perpetual sound the forest-leaves, And beats the matted grass, and still the earth Drinks the unstinted bounty of the clouds- Drinks for her cottage wells, her woodland brooks- Drinks for the springing trout, the toiling bee, And brooding bird-drinks for her tender flowers, Tall oaks, and all the herbage of her hills.
A melancholy sound is in the air,
A deep sigh in the distance, a shrill wail Around my dwelling. 'Tis the Wind of night; A lonely wanderer between earth and cloud, In the black shadow and the chilly mist, Along the streaming mountain-side, and through The dripping woods, and o'er the plashy fields, Roaming and sorrowing still, like one who makes The journey of life alone, and nowhere meets A welcome or a friend, and still goes on In darkness. Yet awhile, a little while, And he shall toss the glittering leaves in play, And dally with the flowers, and gayly lift The slender herbs, pressed low by weight of rain, And drive, in joyous triumph, through the sky, White clouds, the laggard remnants of the storm.
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