Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE RAINY DAY, by MARY E. LEE


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE RAINY DAY, by                    
First Line: I love to look on a day like this / of never-tiring rain
Last Line: In a fresh and an answering strain.
Subject(s): Rain


I LOVE to look on a day like this,
Of never-tiring rain,
When the blue sky wears its sack-cloth robes,
And the streets are a watery plain;
When the big drops fall on the sounding roofs,
With a cool and a startling splash,
And the flute-like breeze pours its music-notes
'Gainst the close-shut window-sash.

I remember yet, though 't was long ago,
The beat of my childish heart,
When with half-conn'd lesson I watch'd some morn,
For fear that the clouds might part;
And oh! what bliss when the skies' wide hall
Seem'd paved as with sheets of lead,
Till the warning rain, at the dark school hour,
Forbade my out-of-door tread.

And in youth's gay season, when wiser grown,
I own, though I blush to tell,
That each rainy day brought that untask'd time,
Which my spirit loved too well:
When the book of knowledge was thrown aside
For some light and romantic lore,
And of antique ballads and honied rhymes
My memory won full store.

Though youth has gone, I've a passion still
For the cool rain's pleasant tunes,
Whether they steal on the midnight hours,
Or peal on the sultry noons;
Whether they come with the fitful spring,
Or the equinoctial spell,
From the fierce black north, or the sweet southwest,
In all changes I love them well.

'T is folly to talk of my spirit's freaks,
But its loftiest flights of thought,
And its friendhest feelings to human-kind,
From a clouded sky are caught;
And my mirth breaks out in its merriest peal,
And I feel most the gift of life,
When the wind and rain o'er a silent world
Hold elemental strife.

'T is pleasant to watch how the green trees quench
Their thirst with a long, full draught;
While the bright flowers hoard up an after store,
In the cup but so lately quaff'd;
And 't is pleasant to see how those other flowers,
The children of every home,
Are stirr'd with joy when their parted lips
Catch the drops as they slowly come.

Oh! better far than a written page,
Is the sermon it reads to me,
This plenteous flood of delicious scent,
That falls in a torrent free;
It brings me nearer to Him who gave
The early and latter rain,
And my heart swells ever as now it does,
In a fresh and an answering strain.





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