Poems (Storrie)/Slow Falling Rain at Night
Slow Falling Rain at Night.
Who is it weeping? I could think I hear The gathered grief of all the world expressed In this slow rain, and every single tear That ever fell from human eye invest The night with pathos—Surely bitterest The grief that inarticulate doth speak This language of despair, too brave to wrest A transient balm from utterance, yet too weak To bear in silence—Mayhap when I lie bleak Night winds have ceased to fret the mournful air And stillness falls, then haply did we seek Some spirit we might find, who, wandering there Up-garners in her heart all human pain And weeps for us in this slow falling rain.