A RAINY DAY WITH THE ANTHOLOGY
THE skies frown on me through the falling rain,
I smile on them for answer, and return
To my low chair beside the fire again
And to my book upon whose pages burn
Verses whose beauty makes all else seem vain.
What though the rain pour down from dawn to night,
What though my door turn on its hinge to none,
I would not have these fancies put to flight,
But dream these dreams unbroken and alone,
Naught to disturb this delicate delight.
