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Poems About Rain

Poem Suggestions

Short Poems About Rain

  1. Rain by Robert Louis Stevenson
  2. The Rain by Ruby Archer
  3. After the Rain by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
  4. After Rain by Alfred Noyes
  5. In St. Germain Street by Bliss Carman
  6. The Shower by John B. Tabb
  7. The Breaking of the Drought by Frederick J. Atwood
  8. The Song of the Rain by Anonymous
  9. Rain, Rain Go Away by Anonymous
  10. It's Raining It's Pouring by Anonymous
  11. The Blessed Rain by Frank L. Stanton
  12. Raindrops by Caroline W. D. Rich
  13. Rain, Rain, April Rain by Annette Wynne
  14. The Little Cloud Comes Down by Annette Wynne
  15. Daisies Standing in the Rain by Annette Wynne

Famous Poems About Rain

  1. The Rainy Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
  2. Summer Shower by Emily Dickinson
  3. Rain by Robert Louis Stevenson
  4. Little Raindrops by Jane Euphemia Saxby

Poems About Rain for Kids

  1. Rain by Robert Louis Stevenson
  2. Rain, Rain Go Away by Anonymous
  3. It's Raining It's Pouring by Anonymous
  4. Little Raindrops by Jane Euphemia Saxby
  5. The Little Cloud Comes Down by Annette Wynne
  6. Daisies Standing in the Rain by Annette Wynne

Good men through the ages, trying to find the sun
And I wonder, still I wonder, who'll stop the rain?

– John Fogerty
Who'll Stop the Rain
  1. Rain

    by Robert Louis Stevenson

    The rain is raining all around,
    It falls on field and tree,
    It rains on the umbrellas here,
    And on the ships at sea.

  2. The Rainy Day

    by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
    It rains, and the wind is never weary;
    The vine still clings to the moldering wall,
    But at every gust the dead leaves fall.
    And the day is dark and dreary.

    My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
    It rains, and the wind is never weary;
    My thoughts still cling to the moldering Past,
    But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
    And the days are dark and dreary.

    Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
    Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
    Thy fate is the common fate of all,
    Into each life some rain must fall,
    Some days must be dark and dreary.

  3. The Rain

    by Ruby Archer

    He is coming the gentle Rain,
    Riding his steed, the wind;
    And over the dusty plain
    Where grasses thirstily pined
    Floats a sigh—
    "He is nigh!"

    And the thunder grumbles his name
    To the lightning's questioning glance;
    While the air, like a restless flame,
    Quivers and glows and pants
    With the cry—
    "He is nigh!"

  4. Before the Rain

    by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

    We knew it would rain, for all the morn,
    A spirit on slender ropes of mist
    Was lowering its golden buckets down
    Into the vapory amethyst

    Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens—
    Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers,
    Dipping the jewels out of the sea,
    To sprinkle them over the land in showers.

    We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed
    The white of their leaves, the amber grain
    Shrunk in the wind— and the lightning now
    Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain!

  5. Before the Rain

    by Madison Cawein

    Before the rain, low in the obscure east,
    Weak and morose the moon hung, sickly gray;
    Around its disc the storm mists, cracked and creased,
    Wove an enormous web, wherein it lay
    Like some white spider hungry for its prey.
    Vindictive looked the scowling firmament,
    In which each star, that flashed a dagger ray,
    Seemed filled with malice of some dark intent.

    The marsh-frog croaked; and underneath the stone
    The peevish cricket raised a creaking cry.
    Within the world these sounds were heard alone,
    Save when the ruffian wind swept from the sky,
    Making each tree like some sad spirit sigh;
    Or shook the clumsy beetle from its weed,
    That, in the drowsy darkness, bungling by,
    Sharded the silence with its feverish speed.

    Slowly the tempest gathered. Hours passed
    Before was heard the thunder's sullen drum
    Rumbling night's hollow; and the Earth at last,
    Restless with waiting,—like a woman, dumb
    With doubting of the love that should have clomb
    Her casement hours ago,—avowed again,
    'Mid protestations, joy that he had come.
    And all night long I heard the Heavens explain.

  6. After the Rain

    by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

    The rain has ceased, and in my room
    The sunshine pours an airy flood;
    And on the church's dizzy vane
    The ancient Cross is bathed in blood.

    From out the dripping ivy-leaves,
    Antiquely carven, gray and high,
    A dormer, facing westward, looks
    Upon the village like an eye:

    And now it glimmers in the sun,
    A square of gold, a disk, a speck:
    And in the belfry sits a Dove
    With purple ripples on her neck.

  7. After Rain

    by Alfred Noyes

    Listen! On sweetening air
    The blackbird growing bold
    Flings out, where green boughs glisten,
    Three splashes of wild gold.

    Daughter of April, hear!
    And sing, O barefoot boy!
    That carol of wild sweet water
    Has washed the world with joy.

    Glisten, O fragrant earth,
    Assoiled by heaven anew,
    And O, ye lovers listen,
    With eyes that glisten, too.

  8. Rain in Summer

    by William Stanley Braithwaite

    The afternoon grew darkening from the west;
    A hush fell on the air, and in the trees;
    The huddled birds pronounced their prophecies;
    The flowers bent their heads as if to rest
    Now that the tide of the sun's golden seas
    In one long wave swept off the earth's wide breast.
    Up sprung deft shadowy patterns by degrees,
    And nature's face her soul made manifest.

    Lo, in the instant, slant, like a hanging string
    Of silver glass beads, pendant from the clouds
    The rain descends! Leaves sing, and wavering
    The tall lithe grasses dance in separate crowds.
    I stand and let my soul commune, it knows
    The mystery that calls it from its close.

  9. The Summer Shower

    Thomas Buchanan Read

    Before the stout harvesters falleth the grain,
    As when the strong stormwind is reaping the plain,
    And loiters the boy in the briery lane;
    But yonder aslant comes the silvery rain,
    Like a long line of spears brightly burnished and tall.

    Adown the white highway like cavalry fleet,
    It dashes the dust with its numberless feet.
    Like a murmurless school, in their leafy retreat,
    The wild birds sit listening the drops round them beat;
    And the boy crouches close to the blackberry wall.

    The swallows alone take the storm on the wing,
    And, taunting the tree-sheltered laborers, sing.
    Like pebbles the rain breaks the face of the spring,
    While a bubble darts up from each widening ring;
    And the boy in dismay hears the loud shower fall.

    But soon are the harvesters tossing their sheaves;
    The robin darts out from his bower of leaves;
    The wren peereth forth from the moss-covered eaves;
    And the rain-spattered urchin now gladly perceives
    That the beautiful bow bendeth over them all.

  10. In St. Germain Street

    Rainy Day on Fifth Avenue
    Rainy Day on Fifth Avenue
    by Childe Hassam
    by Bliss Carman

    Through the street of St. Germain
    March the tattered hosts of rain,

    While the wind with vagrant fife
    Whips their chilly ranks to life.

    From the window I can see
    Their ghostly banners blowing free,

    As they pass to where the ships
    Crowd about the wharves and slips.

    There at day's end they embark
    To invade the realms of dark,

    And the sun comes out again
    In the street of St. Germain.

  11. Woodland Rain

    by Bliss Carman

    Shining, shining children
    Of the summer rain,
    Racing down the valley,
    Sweeping o'er the plain!

    Rushing through the forest,
    Pelting on the leaves,
    Drenching down the meadow
    With its standing sheaves;

    Robed in royal silver,
    Girt with jewels gay,
    With a gust of gladness
    You pass upon your way.

    Fresh, ah, fresh behind you,
    Sunlit and impearled,
    As it was in Eden,
    Lies the lovely world!

  12. Old Man Rain

    by Madison Cawein

    Old Man Rain at the windowpane
    Knocks and fumbles and knocks again:
    His long-nailed fingers slip and strain:
    Old Man Rain at the windowpane
    Knocks all night but knocks in vain.
    Old Man Rain.

    Old Man Rain at the windowpane
    Reels and shambles along the lane:
    His old gray whiskers drip and drain:
    Old Man Rain with fuddled brain
    Reels and staggers like one insane.
    Old Man Rain.

    Old Man Rain is back again,
    With old Mis' Wind at the windowpane,
    Dancing there with her tattered train:
    Her old shawl flaps as she whirls again
    In the wildman dance and is torn in twain.
    Old Mis' Wind and Old Man Rain.

  13. Rain

    by Raymond Garfield Dandridge

    The clouds are shedding tears of joy,
    They fall with rhythmic beat
    Upon the earth, and soon destroy
    Dust dunes and waves of heat.

    Each falling drop enforcement bears
    To river, lake and rill,
    And sweet refreshment gladly shares
    With wooded dell and hill.

    Every flower, bud and leaf,
    Each blossom, branch and tree
    Distills the rain, 'tis my belief,
    To feed the honey bee.

    I pity every wretch I find
    Who, frowning in disdain,
    Is deaf and dumb and also blind
    To beauty in the rain.

  14. The Shower

    by John B. Tabb

    Against the royal Blue,
    A Mist rebellious flew —
    A night-born, wind-uplifted shade
    That for an angry moment stayed,
    Then wept itself away.

    The Earth with moistened eyes
    Beholds the sunlit skies
    Again: but never to forget
    The Cloud whose life-drops mingle yet
    With her maternal clay.

  15. Rain

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    Sharp drives the rain, sharp drives the endless rain.
    The rain-winds wake and wander, lift and blow.
    The slow smoke-wreaths of vapor to and fro
    Wave, and unweave, and gather and build again.
    Over the far gray reaches of the plain—
    Gray miles on miles my passionate thought must go,—
    I strain my sight, grown dim with gazing so,
    Pressing my face against the streaming pane.

    How the rain beats! Ah God, if love had power
    To voice its utmost yearning, even tho'
    Thro' time and bitter distance, not in vain,
    Surely Her heart would hear me at this hour,
    Look thro' the years, and see! But would She know
    The white face pressed against the streaming pane?

  16. Windless Rain

    by Paul Hamilton Hayne

    The rain, the desolate rain!
    Ceaseless, and solemn, and chill!
    How it drips on the misty pane,
    How it drenches the darkened sill!
    O scene of sorrow and dearth!
    I would that the wind awaking
    To a fierce and gusty birth,
    Might vary this dull refrain
    Of the rain, the desolate rain:
    For the heart of heaven seems breaking
    In tears o'er the fallen earth,
    And again, again, again,
    We list to the sombre strain,
    The faint, cold monotone—
    Whose soul is a mystic moan—
    Of the rain, the mournful rain,
    The soft, despairing rain!

    The rain, the murmurous rain!
    Weary, passionless, slow,
    'Tis the rhythm of settled sorrow,
    'Tis the sobbing of cureless woe!
    And all the tragic of life,
    The pathos of Long-Ago,
    Comes hack on the sad refrain
    Of the rain, the dreary rain,
    Till the graves in my heart unclose,
    And the dead that its depths,
    From a solemn and weird repose
    Awake,—but with eyelids cold,
    And voices that melt in pain
    On the tide of the plaintive rain,
    The yearning, hopeless rain,
    The long, low, whispering rain!

  17. Rain, Rain, April Rain

    by Annette Wynne

    Rain, rain, April rain,
    Washing tree and window pane,
    Tapping every spot of ground,
    Lest some sleepy seed be found;
    I can watch you and be gay
    Though I cannot go to play.

    Rain, rain, April rain,
    Washer of the hill and plain,
    Summer could not be so gay
    If it did not rain to-day,
    And it's fun to stay inside
    And see you falling far and wide.

  18. April Rain

    by Mathilde Blind

    The April rain, the April rain,
    Comes slanting down in fitful showers,
    Then from the furrow shoots the grain,
    And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;
    And in grey shaw and woodland bowers
    The cuckoo through the April rain
    Calls once again.

    The April sun, the April sun,
    Glints through the rain in fitful splendour,
    And in grey shaw and woodland dun
    The little leaves spring forth and tender
    Their infant hands, yet weak and slender,
    For warmth towards the April sun,
    One after one.

    And between shower and shine hath birth
    The rainbow's evanescent glory;
    Heaven's light that breaks on mists of earth!
    Frail symbol of our human story,
    It flowers through showers where, looming hoary,
    The rain-clouds flash with April mirth,
    Like Life on earth.

  19. April Showers

    by Mary E. Wilkins

    There fell an April shower, one night:
    Next morning, in the garden-bed,
    The crocuses stood straight and gold:
    "And they have come," the children said.

    There fell an April shower, one night:
    Next morning, thro' the woodland spread
    The Mayflowers, pink and sweet as youth:
    "And they are come," the children said.

    There fell an April shower, one night:
    Next morning, sweetly, overhead,
    The blue-birds sung, the blue-birds sung:
    "And they have come," the children said.

  20. November Rain

    by Ellen P. Allerton

    November rain! November rain!
    Fitfully beating the window pane:
    Creeping in pools across the street;
    Clinging in slush to dainty feet;
    Shrouding in black the sun at noon;
    Wrapping a pall about the moon.

    Out in the darkness, sobbing, sighing,
    Yonder, where the dead are lying,
    Over mounds with headstones gray,
    And new ones made but yesterday—
    Weeps the rain above the mould,
    Weeps the night-rain, sad and cold.

    The low wind wails—a voice of pain.
    Fit to chime with the weeping rain.
    Dirge-like, solemn, it sinks and swells,
    Till I start and listen for tolling bells,
    And let them toll—the summer fled,
    Wild winds and rain bewail the dead.

    And yet not dead. A prophesy
    Over wintry wastes comes down to me,
    Strong, exultant, floating down
    Over frozen fields and forests brown,
    Clear and sweet it peals and swells,
    Like New Year chimes from midnight bells.

    It tells of a heart with life aglow,
    Throbbing under the shrouding snow,
    Beating, beating with pulses warm,
    While roars above it the gusty storm.
    Asleep—not dead—your grief is vain,
    Wild, wailing winds, November rain.

  21. Rain on the Roof

    by Coates Kinney

    When the humid showers gather over all the starry spheres,
    And the melancholy darkness gently weeps in rainy tears,
    'Tis a joy to press the pillow of a cottage chamber bed,
    And listen to the patter of the soft rain overhead.

    Every tinkle on the shingles has an echo in the heart,
    And a thousand dreamy fancies into busy being start;
    And a thousand recollections weave their bright hues into woof,
    As I listen to the patter of the soft rain on the roof.

    There in fancy comes my mother, as she used to years agone,
    To survey the infant sleepers ere she left them till the dawn.
    I can see her bending o'er me, as I listen to the strain
    Which is played upon the shingles by the patter of the rain.

    Then my little seraph sister, with her wings and waving hair,
    And her bright-eyed, cherub brother—a serene, angelic pair—
    Glide around my wakeful pillow with their praise or mild reproof,
    As I listen to the murmur of the soft rain on the roof.

    And another comes to thrill me with her eyes' delicious blue,
    I forget, as gazing on her, that her heart was all untrue,
    I remember that I loved her as I ne'er may love again,
    And my heart's quick pulses vibrate to the patter of the rain.

    There is naught in art's bravuras that can work with such a spell,
    In the spirit's pure, deep fountains, whence the holy passions swell,
    As that melody of nature, that subdued, subduing strain,
    Which is played upon the shingles by the patter of the rain!

  22. Gray Days

    by John Charles McNeill

    A soaking sedge,
    A faded field, a leafless hill and hedge,

    Low clouds and rain,
    And loneliness and languor worse than pain.

    Mottled with moss,
    Each gravestone holds to heaven a patient Cross.

    Shrill streaks of light
    Two sycamores' clean-limbed, funereal white,

    And low between,
    The sombre cedar and the ivy green.

    Upon the stone
    Of each in turn who called this land his own

    The gray rain beats
    And wraps the wet world in its flying sheets,

    And at my eaves
    A slow wind, ghostlike, comes and grieves and grieves.

  23. The Rain Outside

    by Margaret E. Sangster

    You close beside me, and outside, the rain,
    Which, stealing through the darkness of the night,
    Seems tapping out with fingers softly light,
    A world-old song upon my window pane—
    A song of happiness with a refrain
    That throbs in suffering. You hold me tight,
    Your eyes, that search my own, are warmly bright,
    Your lips touch mine again, and yet again!

    Ah, what though years must pass, though you and I
    May live our lives, quite silently, apart?
    Whenever rain comes, when the day is through,
    And, tapping on my casement, seems to sigh,
    A dream will blossom, fragrant, in my heart,
    A dream of youth eternal, and of—you.

  24. The Rainstorm

    by James W. Whilt

    Here in the deep tangled forest
    All is quiet and still,
    While far to the west the thunder,
    Re-echoes from hill to hill.

    And the lightning's flash, ever vivid,
    In great gashes knives the air;
    The rain comes down in torrents,
    A deluge everywhere!

    Bathing the heat-sick flowers
    That they may bloom once more;
    Painting the grass a greener hue,
    That grows by our cabin door;

    Making the pastures fresher,
    For the cows and shepherd's herds,
    Making the pools by the road-side,—
    Bath tubs for the birds.

    Then the thunder peals louder and louder,
    Firing its shrapnel of rain.
    The clouds charge after each other,
    And the drouth is defeated again.

    Then through a rent in the clouds
    The sun's searchlight casts its ray,
    And the Rain-God looks over the valley
    And sees the result of the fray.

    And as He sees his conquest,
    His victory's flag is unfurled,
    In a beautiful colored rainbow,—
    He is telling all of the world,

    What a victory was his, what a triumph!
    It's flashed down the milky way,
    Then the sentinel stars dot the heavens,
    And the dew-drops sound taps for the day.

  25. The Rainy Day

    by James W. Whilt

    The hills are smothered in a fog,
    The sky is somber-grey,
    The rain is coming in a mist,
    A cheerless rainy day.

    To me the trees are weeping,
    With their branches drooping low,
    Their tears are steady falling,
    With heavy drops, yet slow.

    The birds they all are silent,
    And not one sweet silvery note,
    Re-echoes through the forest,
    From our feathered songster's throat.

    Not one thing to break the silence,
    Save the rain-drops as they fall,
    As I watch the clouds roll onward,
    Or climb the mountain wall.

    And somehow I feel so happy,
    Though the world seems full of pain,
    So I let my gaze go farther,
    When the sun will shine again.

    The trees and flowers and grasses,
    They will all the fresher seem,
    And the laughter will be louder
    From the rippling mountain stream.

    The birds will sing far sweeter
    Than they did in days gone by,
    The air will be the fresher,
    And of bluer tint the sky.

    We all do love the sunshine,
    We love the moonlight, too,
    We also love the twilight,
    And the falling of the dew;

    But I never growl or grumble,
    Only this I wish to say;—
    That this world would be a desert
    Without you, oh! Rainy Day!

  26. The Rain Upon The Corn

    by Ed Blair

    How sweet the music of the rain,
    At evening or morn,
    When clouds with trails that reach the ground
    Pass o'er the fields of corn.
    Man's work is done. The toiling days
    Of heat and anxious care
    Are ended, and the falling rain
    With music fills the air.

    How long and hard the fight since first
    Was turned the lifeless sod,
    Since first the harrow surged its way
    To pulverize each clod,
    How long since planting of the seed,
    The sacrifice each morn,
    To keep the weeds from growing where
    Now stands the field of corn.

    Out from my window to the fields
    I cast a grateful eye,
    I see the raindrops falling down
    From out the cloudy sky,
    And as they fall upon the fields
    New hopes in me are born,
    For plenty dwells when July rains
    Fall on the fields of corn.

  27. The Breaking of the Drought

    by Frederick J. Atwood

    Listen!—it rains; it rains!
    The prayer of the grass is heard;
    The thirsty ground drinks eagerly
    As a famished man eats bread.
    The moan of the trees is hushed,
    And the violets under the banks
    Lift up their heads so gratefully,
    And smilingly give thanks.

  28. The Song of the Rain

    by Anonymous

    To the great brown house, where the flowers dwell,
    Came the rain with its tap, tap, tap!
    And whispered, "Violet, Snowdrop, Rose,
    Your pretty eyes you must now unclose
    From your long, long wintry nap!"
    Said the rain with its tap, tap, tap!

    From the doors they peeped with a timid grace,
    Just to answer this tap, tap, tap!
    Miss Snowdrop curtsied a sweet "Good-day,"
    Then all came nodding their heads so gay,
    And they said, "We've had our nap!
    Thank you, rain, for your tap, tap, tap!"

  29. Rain, Rain Go Away

    by Anonymous

    Rain, rain, go away
    Come again another day
    Little Arthur wants to play.

  30. It's Raining It's Pouring

    by Anonymous

    It's raining; it's pouring.
    The old man is snoring.
    He went to bed and bumped his head,
    And he wouldn't get up in the morning.

  31. A Desert Rain

    by Andrew Downing

    The cool rain poured in sudden haste
    Upon the thirsty sod,
    And life throughout an arid waste
    Rejoices, thanking God.

    Each wild and lonely desert flower
    Is royally arrayed,
    As if in one brief, stormy hour
    The world were newly made.

    Where vagrant breezes stray and waft
    The mesquite's sweet perfume,
    The green sahuaro's fluted shaft
    Lifts high a richer bloom.

    The palo verde blossoms glow
    Like jets of yellow fire,
    And every bird we love and know
    Pipes in the tuneful choir.

    The fair Altruria of the bees,
    Beneath the orange boughs,
    Hears whispered friendships of the trees
    As sweet as lovers' vows.

    Wee desert folk from strife forbear—
    Their deadly conflicts cease,
    As if responsive to the prayer
    For Universal Peace.

    No more on thorns the linnet hangs―
    Slain by the cruel shrike;
    The coiled crotalus sheathes his fangs,
    And does not care to strike.

    Here blooms the world like Aaron's rod,
    New verdure clothes the plain—
    The wondrous miracle of God
    That follows a desert rain!

  32. Poems About Raindrops

  33. Little Raindrops

    by Jane Euphemia Saxby

    Oh, where do you come from,
    You little drops of rain,
    Pitter-patter, pitter-patter,
    Down the windowpane?

    They won’t let me walk,
    They won’t let me play,
    And they won’t let me go
    Out of doors at all today.

    They put away my playthings
    Because I broke them all,
    And then they locked up all my bricks,
    And took away my ball.

    Tell me, little raindrops,
    Is that the way you play?
    Pitter-patter, pitter-patter,
    All the rainy day?

    I sit here at the window;
    I've nothing else to do;
    Oh, I wish that I could play,
    This rainy day, with you!

    The little raindrops cannot speak,
    But "pitter-patter-pat"
    Means, "We can play on this side,
    Why can't you play on that?"

  34. The Rain-Drop

    by Richard Coe

    The rain-drop, the rain drop,
    Its soft and tiny feet
    Keep up a pleasant pattering
    Along the dusty street.

    The rain drop, the rain drop,
    It falls on the stream,
    And floats in gladsomeness along
    Beneath the sunny beam.

    The rain drop, the rain drop,
    It whispers to my ear—
    "I am but lent to earth—not given—
    I must not stay here:

    "Soon as the golden sun shall shine
    In an unclouded sky,
    Borne on the gentle breeze I'll haste
    To my sweet home on high!

    "And, when all nature seems athirst,
    On mountain, hill and plain,
    The bright and sparkling rain-drop
    Will visit you again!"

  35. The Blessed Rain

    by Frank L. Stanton

    Dear heart dost thou complain
    When the kind God sends rain?
    Think of the thirsting crops
    That drink the beady drops —
    Think of the flowers, unfolding all their sweets —
    The city's burning streets,
    The famished flocks upon the mountain tops —
    The windless casements, where the sick in vain
    Cry for the cool, sweet rain!
    Think — and thank God
    For every drop that quivers on a clod!

  36. Summer Shower

    by Emily Dickinson

    A drop fell on the apple tree,
    Another on the roof;
    A half a dozen kissed the eaves,
    And made the gables laugh.

    A few went out to help the brook,
    That went to help the sea.
    Myself conjectured, Were they pearls,
    What necklaces could be!

    The dust replaced in hoisted roads,
    The birds jocoser sung;
    The sunshine threw his hat away,
    The orchards spangles hung.

    The breezes brought dejected lutes,
    And bathed them in the glee;
    The East put out a single flag,
    And signed the fete away.

  37. Falls the Rain

    by Ruby Archer

    Dully falls the steady rain.
    Broken drops in line oblique
    Fling themselves across the pane—
    Of shattered dreams they sadly speak.

    Ah me, that life should be so drear,
    And all the world should moan in pain;
    For every rain-drop falls a tear
    As hopelessly as falls the rain.

    But let the tears like rain sink down
    To bring the roots of life their drink,
    To give the grasses green for brown,
    And make life's faded roses pink.

    And let them cleanse life's leaves of dust
    And wash away each blight or bane,
    All stains of time, the mould, the must,—
    Then full of promise falls the rain.

  38. The Rain-Drop and the Lily

    by Hannah Flagg Gould

    A cloud, that had hung like a veil o'er the sun,
    Was melted, and came to the earth on the run;
    When one of its parts, in a round, sparkling drop,
    That coursed down the air, on its way made a stop
    To crown a fair Lily, that, lowly and pale,
    Was bending to pour out her sweets o'er the vale;
    Because, not another of all the bright shower
    Could bathe, in descending, so lovely a flower.

    The Lily was shocked by the signal of state.
    She shook when it came, and was bent with its weight.
    ''T is brilliant and heavy,' she modestly said,
    'And must not be worn by so humble a head.
    For me, in my simple and plain robe of white,
    To wear a gay coronet courting the sight,
    It ill would befit!' so, she bowed herself down,
    And on a green leaf meekly cast off her crown.

    'And now,' said the Drop, 'as it clearly is seen,
    The crown was not needed to make thee a queen,
    Permit me awhile at thy feet to repose,
    A few secret things of my life to disclose;
    And then may I sink in the earth, where thy root
    Will take me, and let me return in a shoot,
    To hang on thy stem in a beautiful bell,
    As pure as the one that I laved when I fell.'

    The Lily consented. The Drop then began:—
    'My birth was before the creation of man!
    When darkness was yet on the face of the deep
    I lay in its bosom, an infant asleep.
    The Spirit moved over us through the black night;
    And when my Creator said, 'Let there be light,'
    Its first rays awoke me! I sparkled and played,
    In praise of the power by whose word we were made.

    'And since—but 't would take many lives such as thine,
    To learn half the change that has since followed mine!
    I've run in the stream, I have leapt in the fount;
    I've slept in the lake, and have rolled up the mount
    In a light curl of mist. I have strengthened the oak,
    When o'er its lone head the red thunderbolt broke!
    I've sailed in the cloud, and distilled in the dew.
    As old as the world, I've a form ever new.

    'When earth was submerged, I was under the ark,
    Combined with my kindred to bear up the bark.
    I've been at the poles. All the zones I have crossed.
    I've fled from the fire and been caught by the frost.
    I've plunged in the avalanche, heaved in the sea;
    And ocean's deep things have been open to me.
    The ruins unknown, and the treasures untold
    That lie in her caverns, 't was mine to behold!

    'Through groves of rich coral, while winding thy way
    Where pearls strewed the bed, and the mariner lay,
    I bathed his pale lips and his eye's heavy lid,
    When all those bright things from its vision were hid,
    And cold, rayless orbs seemed to tell me their sight
    By Him was recalled, who said, 'Let there be light.'
    From scenes deep and sad, to the skies high and clear,
    I rose in a vapor to fall in a tear.

    'Approaching the earth, where I paused on thy stem,
    Transfixed by a sunbeam, I turned to a gem!
    That delicate union of water and light,
    Where so many beauties and wonders unite,
    Was formed on thy head, and disporting its powers
    To mark thee the fairest and sweetest of flowers.
    And now, the next form that to sight I assume,
    I hope will appear on thy stalk, in its bloom!'

    The Drop sunk away where the root drew it in.
    And ye who will go, when the lilies begin
    Their buds to unfold to the warm, vernal sun,
    And look in the vale, ye may there find the one
    That east off her crown; and the Drop will be seen
    To rise gently up o'er the leaves fresh and green,
    Transformed to a bell of a pure, snowy white;
    And still praising Him, who said, 'Let there be light.'

  39. Little Rain

    by Elizabeth Madox Roberts

    When I was making myself a game
    Up in the garden, a little rain came.

    It fell down quick in a sort of rush,
    And I crawled back under the snowball bush.

    I could hear the big drops hit the ground
    And see little puddles of dust fly round.

    A chicken came till the rain was gone;
    He had just a very few feathers on.

    He shivered a little under his skin,
    And then he shut his eyeballs in.

    Even after the rain had begun to hush
    It kept on raining up in the bush.

    One big flat drop came sliding down,
    And a ladybug that was red and brown

    Was up on a little stem waiting there,
    And I got some rain in my hair.

  40. Raindrops

    by Caroline W. D. Rich

    Falling, gleaming in the sunshine,
    Down upon the fragrant hay
    Came a thousand tiny raindrops
    Like a fairy host at play.
    Through the clouds a golden sunbeam,
    Like a smile, from heaven came;
    Instantly the falling raindrops
    Changed into an arch of flame.

  41. More Poems About Rain

  42. A Rainy Sunday

    by Ruby Archer

    I love a rainy Sunday,
    With all the world away;
    The cozy hearth intensified
    By gloom of outer day.

    In silken gown fantastic,
    I let my hair go free,
    And idle in and out of books,
    Or weave a melody.

    The rain beyond the window
    Chants on in monotone;
    I muse among my household gods,
    And laugh—to be alone.

    The family is drowsy,
    The very cat asleep;
    And naught comes nigh my revery,
    Growing in silence deep.

    My books are dear companions,
    My pictures well-loved friends,
    My brown divan with Orient grace
    A dreamy languor lends.

    Come often, rainy Sundays,
    Forbidding me to roam—
    Come often, shut the world without,
    And me within my home.

  43. The Little Cloud Comes Down

    by Annette Wynne

    The little spot of earth below
    So pretty seemed the strong wind could not blow
    The curly cloud away;
    But right above, it lingered all the day;
    And O, it got to like the spot so well,
    It wanted to go down, and all at once—
    Down, down, it fell,
    With a pattering noise that was swift and loud,
    But the earth was as glad as the curly cloud!

  44. Daisies Standing in the Rain

    by Annette Wynne

    Daisies standing in the rain,
    Hold their heads together,
    But they never once complain
    Of the drenching weather.

    Daisies know the sun will dry
    All their dripping laces;
    They're far too wise to frown and sigh
    And spoil their dainty faces.

  45. Winter Rain

    by Christina Rossetti

    Every valley drinks,
    Every dell and hollow:
    Where the kind rain sinks and sinks,
    Green of Spring will follow.

    Yet a lapse of weeks
    Buds will burst their edges,
    Strip their wool-coats, glue-coats, streaks,
    In the woods and hedges;

    Weave a bower of love
    For birds to meet each other,
    Weave a canopy above
    Nest and egg and mother.

    But for fattening rain
    We should have no flowers,
    Never a bud or leaf again
    But for soaking showers;

    Never a mated bird
    In the rocking tree-tops,
    Never indeed a flock or herd
    To graze upon the lea-crops.

    Lambs so woolly white,
    Sheep the sun-bright leas on,
    They could have no grass to bite
    But for rain in season.

    We should find no moss
    In the shadiest places,
    Find no waving meadow-grass
    Pied with broad-eyed daisies;

    But miles of barren sand,
    With never a son or daughter,
    Not a lily on the land,
    Or lily on the water.

  46. February Rain

    by Charles Turner Dazey

    O lonely day! No sounds are heard
    Save winds and floods that downward pour,
    And timid fluting of a bird,
    That pipes one low note o'er and o'er.

    Before the blast the bare trees lean,
    The ragged clouds sail low and gray,
    And all the wild and wintry scene
    Is but one blur of driving spray.

    O day most meet for memories,
    For musing by a vacant hearth
    On that which was and that which is,
    And those who walk no more on earth!

    And yet this dark and dreary day
    Some brighter lesson still can bring,
    For it is herald of the May,
    A faint foretoken of the spring.

    Beneath the ceaseless-beating rain
    Earth's snowy shroud fast disappears,
    As sorrow pressing on the brain,
    Fades in a flood of happy tears.

    And thus in darkness oft is wrought,
    Through lonely days of tears and grief,
    The gradual change by which is brought
    To shadowed lives some sweet relief.

  47. Summer Rain

    by Edmund Clarence Stedman

    Yestermorn the air was dry
    As the winds of Araby,
    While the sun, with pitiless heat,
    Glared upon the glaring street,
    And the meadow fountains sealed,
    Till the people everywhere,
    And the cattle in the field,
    And the birds in middle air,
    And the thirsty little flowers,
    Sent to heaven a fainting prayer
    For the blessed summer showers.

    Not in vain the prayer was said;
    For at sunset, overhead,
    Sailing from the gorgeous West,
    Came the pioneers, abreast,
    Of a wondrous argosy,—
    The Armada of the sky!
    Far along I saw them sail,
    Wafted by an upper gale;
    Saw them, on their lustrous route,
    Fling a thousand banners out:
    Yellow, violet, crimson, blue,
    Orange, sapphire,—every hue
    That the gates of Heaven put on,
    To the sainted eyes of John,
    In that hallowed Patmos isle
    Their skyey pennons wore; and while
    I drank the glory of the sight
    Sunset faded into night.

    Then diverging, far and wide,
    To the dim horizon's side,
    Silently and swiftly there,
    Every galleon of the air,
    Manned by some celestial crew,
    Out its precious cargo threw,
    And the gentle summer rain
    Cooled the fevered Earth again.

    Through the night I heard it fall
    Tenderly and musical;
    And this morning not a sigh
    Of wind uplifts the briony leaves,
    But the ashen-tinted sky
    Still for earthly turmoil grieves,
    While the melody of the rain,
    Dropping on the window-pane,
    On the lilac and the rose,
    Round us all its pleasance throws,
    Till our souls are yielded wholly
    To its constant melancholy,
    And, like the burden of its song,
    Passionate moments glide along.

    Pinks and hyacinths perfume
    All our garden-fronted room;
    Hither, close beside me, Love!
    Do not whisper, do not move.
    Here we two will softly stay,
    Side by side, the livelong day.
    Lean thy head upon my breast:
    Ever shall it give thee rest,
    Ever would I gaze to meet
    Eyes of thine up-glancing, Sweet!
    What enchanted dreams are ours!
    While the murmur of the showers
    Dropping on the tranquil ground,
    Dropping on the leaves and flowers,
    Wraps our yearning souls around
    In the drapery of its sound.

    Still the plenteous streamlets fall:
    Here two hearts are all in all
    To each other; and they beat
    With no evanescent heat,
    But softly, steadily, hour by hour,
    With the calm, melodious power
    Of the gentle summer rain,
    That in Heaven so long hath lain,
    And from out that shoreless sea
    Pours its blessings tenderly.

    Freer yet its currents swell!
    Here are streams that flow as well,
    Rivulets of the constant heart;
    But a little space apart
    Glide they now, and soon shall run,
    Love-united, into one.
    It shall chance, in future days,
    That again the lurid rays
    Of that hidden sun shall shine
    On the floweret and the vine,
    And again the meadow-springs
    Fly away on misty wings:
    But no glare of Fate adverse
    Shall on us achieve its curse,
    Never any baneful gleam
    Waste our clear, perennial stream;
    For its fountains lie below
    That malign and ominous glow,—
    Lie in shadowy grottoes cool,
    Where all kindly spirits rule;
    Calmly ever shall it flow
    Toward the waters of the sea,—
    That serene Eternity!

  48. March Horses

    by Edith Franklin Wyatt

    Down the rainy roof-top, up the silver street,
    Horses of the morning wind gallop far and fleet.
    Over mist and tree-top, down the break of day.
    Coursers of the cold-breathed wind swing me on your way.

    Light you whinnied at the gabling, and afar I'd dreamed your stabling—
    Heard you stamping in your stabling on the heaven's crystal floor,
    Dreamed your waiting in the airy days of ice-locked January,
    Through clear nights in February, past the pole-star lantern's door.

    Gallop past the hoary Hyads, and the snowy-clustered Pleiads,
    Over common, over open, over mud-flung road and plain,
    Cloud-winged horses with your streaming manes and dappled fetlocks gleaming
    Beautiful beyond my dreaming, down your yearly course again.

    Over highway, over byway, every way of yours is my way,
    Fog-smoked roof, and dripping alley, and the trail the wild duck cries,
    Ragged mist and splashing byway, plashing eaves, and flooded highway,
    Broken shore and full-flushed valley, and the hundred-hurdled skies.

    Gallop, gallop swifter to me, thrill the strength of daybreak through me,
    Twelve great winds of open heaven, in your splendor fleet and free,
    Winds above all pride and scorning, all self-shame and self-adorning
    As the naked stars of morning singing through the bare-branched tree.

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