Rain, rain, rain. I find its endless plash delightful. Now it rushes with a spiteful Jar against the window pane. Now it has a soft, low fall, Like the tap of old desire. And I sit beside my fire, Vacant, with no thought at all, Eased of passion, eased of pain, Eased almost of long ambition, Melted by the slow attrition Of the rain, rain, rain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LONESOME CHILD by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SONNETS ATTEMPTED IN THE MANNER OF CONTEMPORARY WRITERS: 2 by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE LOST PLEIAD by WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS AMORETTI: 15 by EDMUND SPENSER A WOMAN'S SONNETS: 12 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |