| |
| HOW beautiful is the rain! | |
| After the dust and heat, | |
| In the broad and fiery street, | |
| In the narrow lane, | |
| How beautiful is the rain! | 5 |
| |
| How it clatters along the roofs, | |
| Like the tramp of hoofs! | |
| How it gushes and struggles out | |
| From the throat of the overflowing spout! | |
| Across the window-pane | 10 |
| It pours and pours; | |
| And swift and wide, | |
| With a muddy tide, | |
| Like a river down the gutter roars | |
| The rain, the welcome rain! | 15 |
| |
| The sick man from his chamber looks | |
| At the twisted brooks; | |
| He can feel the cool | |
| Breath of each little pool; | |
| His fevered brain | 20 |
| Grows calm again, | |
| And he breathes a blessing on the rain. | |
| |
| From the neighboring school | |
| Come the boys, | |
| With more than their wonted noise | 25 |
| And commotion; | |
| And down the wet streets | |
| Sail their mimic fleets, | |
| Till the treacherous pool | |
| Ingulfs them in its whirling | 30 |
| And turbulent ocean. | |
| |
| In the country, on every side, | |
| Where far and wide, | |
| Like a leopard’s tawny and spotted hide, | |
| Stretches the plain, | 35 |
| To the dry grass and the drier grain | |
| How welcome is the rain! | |
| |
| In the furrowed land | |
| The toilsome and patient oxen stand; | |
| Lifting the yoke-encumbered head, | 40 |
| With their dilated nostrils spread, | |
| They silently inhale | |
| The clover-scented gale, | |
| And the vapors that arise | |
| From the well-watered and smoking soil. | 45 |
| For this rest in the furrow after toil | |
| Their large and lustrous eyes | |
| Seem to thank the Lord, | |
| More than man’s spoken word. | |
| |
| Near at hand, | 50 |
| From under the sheltering trees, | |
| The farmer sees | |
| His pastures, and his fields of grain, | |
| As they bend their tops | |
| To the numberless beating drops | 55 |
| Of the incessant rain. | |
| He counts it as no sin | |
| That he sees therein | |
| Only his own thrift and gain. | |
| |
| These, and far more than these, | 60 |
| The Poet sees! | |
| He can behold | |
| Aquarius old | |
| Walking the fenceless fields of air; | |
| And from each ample fold | 65 |
| Of the clouds about him rolled | |
| Scattering everywhere | |
| The showery rain, | |
| As the farmer scatters his grain. | |
| |
| He can behold | 70 |
| Things manifold | |
| That have not yet been wholly told,— | |
| Have not been wholly sung nor said. | |
| For his thought, that never stops, | |
| Follows the water-drops | 75 |
| Down to the graves of the dead, | |
| Down through chasms and gulfs profound, | |
| To the dreary fountain-head | |
| Of lakes and rivers under ground; | |
| And sees them, when the rain is done, | 80 |
| On the bridge of colors seven | |
| Climbing up once more to heaven, | |
| Opposite the setting sun. | |
| |
| Thus the Seer, | |
| With vision clear, | 85 |
| Sees forms appear and disappear, | |
| In the perpetual round of strange, | |
| Mysterious change | |
| From birth to death, from death to birth, | |
| From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth; | 90 |
| Till glimpses more sublime | |
| Of things unseen before, | |
| Unto his wondering eyes reveal | |
| The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel | |
| Turning forevermore | 95 |
| In the rapid and rushing river of Time. | |
| |
