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.
