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First Line: Rain-and the lights of the city
Last Line: The desolate rain.
Alternate Author Name(s): Lewis, Michael
Subject(s): Automobile Drivers; Taxis; Travel; Journeys; Trips

RAIN—and the lights of the city,
Blurred by the mist on the pane.
A thing without passion or pity—
This is the rain.

It beats on the roof with derision,
It howls at the doors of the cab—
Phantoms go by in a vision,
Distorted and drab.

Torpor and dreariness greet me;
All of the things I abhor
Rise to confront and defeat me,
As I ride to your door...

At last you have come; you have banished
The gloom of each rain-haunted street—
The tawdry surroundings have vanished;
The evening is sweet.

Now the whole city is dreamlike;
The rain plays the lightest of tunes;
The lamps through the mist make it seem like
A city of moons.

No longer my fancies run riot;
I hold the most magic of charms—
You smile at me, warm and unquiet,
Here in my arms.

I do not wonder or witness
Whether it rains or is fair;
I only can think of your sweetness,
And the scent of your hair.

I am deaf to the clatter and drumming,
And life is a thing to ignore...
Alas, my beloved, we are coming
Once more to your door!...

You have gone; it is listless and lonely;
The evening is empty again;
The world is a blank—there is only
The desolate rain.

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