RAIN
THE rain was grey before it fell, And through a world where light had died There ran a mournful little wind That shook the trees and cried.
The rain was brown upon the earth, In turbid stream and tiny seas—In swift and slender shafts that beat The flowers to their knees.
The rain is mirror to the sky, To leaning grass in image dear, And drifting in the shining pools The clouds are white and near.
2
