Into a land of wandering rain I have fled from a voice that follows me still To the lonely cabin under the hill; It cries to me out of the windless rain, And at night I hear it crying again. All day the rain is on the lake, All night the rain drips from the thatch; I stand at the cabin door and watch The drifting rain beat on the lake, And the foam-white ripples gather and break. The woods are veiled with the rains all day, The woods crouch under the rains all night, And the rainy torrents cry from the height; I hear in the rain, night and day, A voice crying from far away. |