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Home  »  The New Poetry  »  Little Pagan Rain Song

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Little Pagan Rain Song

By Frances Shaw

IN the dark and peace of my final bed,

The wet grass waving above my head,

At rest from love, at rest from pain,

I lie and listen to the rain.

Falling, softly falling,

Song of my soul that is free;

Song of my soul that has not forgot

The sleeping body of me.

When quiet and calm and straight I lie,

High in the air my soul rides by:

Shall I await thee, soul, in vain?

Hark to the answer in the rain.

Falling, softly falling,

Song of my soul that is free;

Song of my soul that will not forget

The sleeping body of me.