Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE RAINY SEASON IN CALIFORNIA, by JOHN ROLLIN RIDGE


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE RAINY SEASON IN CALIFORNIA, by                    
First Line: The rains have come, the winds are shrill
Last Line: My soul enchanted soareth free.
Alternate Author Name(s): Yellow Bird
Subject(s): California; Rain


The rains have come, the winds are shrill,
Dark clouds are trailing near the ground;
The mists have clothed each naked hill,
And all is sad and drear around.

The swollen torrents rapid rush,
Far down the mountain gorges deep;
Now, falling o'er the jagged rocks,
They thunder through the hollows steep.

Now, in a basin boiling round,
They dance in maddest music high,
Or, with a sudden leap or bound,
Dash on like bolts of destiny.

From mountain's side to mountain's side,
The chasms vast in vapors lost,
Seem like a sea of darkness wide,
Which fancy dreams can ne'er be crost.

Far off the loftier mountains stand,
Calm, saint-like in their robes of white,
Like heaven-descended spirits grand
Who fill the darkness with their light.

Black clouds are rolling round their feet,
And ever strive to higher climb,
But still their mists dissolve in rain,
And reach not to that height sublime.

Gone are the birds with sunny days,
But flowers shall cheer us in their room,
And shrubs that pined in summer rays
Shall top their leafy boughs with bloom.

The grass grows green upon the hills,
(Now wrapt in thickly fallen clouds),
Which tall and beautiful shall rise
When they have cast their wintry shrouds.

Then wandering through their thousand vales,
Each flowery bordered path shall lead
To gardens wild, where nature's hand
Hath nurtured all with kindly heed.

Her own voluptuous couch is spread
Beneath the curtains of the sky,
And on her soft and flowery bed
The night looks down with loving eye.

But Fancy paints the scene too fast,
For thus she always loves to leave
The bitter present or the past,
And rainbows from the future weave.

Lo! night upon my musings here,
With rapid, stealthy foot hath crept
Unheard amid the sullen sounds
Which o'er my head have lately swept.

The pouring rain upon the roof,
The winds in wild careering bands,
Seem bent to see if tempest proof
The building on its basis stands.

The fiend of this dark night and storm
Stands howling at my very door --
I dread to see her haggard form
Break in and pass the threshold o'er.

But hold your own my trusty door!
Yield not an inch to's utmost might,
Nor let the hellish wild uproar
That reigns without come in to-night.

It stands -- my lonely candle burns,
The single light for miles around;
Reminding me of some last hope
That still will light life's gloom profound.

Howl on ye elemental sprites,
And mutter forth your curses deep,
The anarchy that others frights,
Shall rock me soundly into sleep.

For, oh, I love to slumber 'neath
The tempest's wrathful melody,
And dream all night that on its wings
My soul enchanted soareth free.






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