Poems (Trask)/After the Rain

by Clara Augusta Jones Trask

AFTER THE RAIN.

The sable clouds break into light,
 To let the sunshine through;
Above the ridge of western hills
 There is a belt of blue,
And through the fleecy veil of mist
 The sun bursts into view.

The wide fields stretch toward the sea,
 Fragrant with clover scent;
The lilacs and the appleblooms
 In one sweet mass are blent,
And in the east a bow of Hope
 Climbs toward the firmament.

The brooks leap down the rocky steeps,
 White as the winter snow,—
Their dreamy voices singing us
 Airs of the long ago;
And blood-red on the garden wall
 The damask roses glow.

Upon the elm-tree by the well,
 The robin calls his mate,—
Who with her swelling amber breast
 Coquettes upon the gate:
Poor little robin! he, like us,
 Must be content to wait.

Below the meadows in the grove,
 The sweetly subtle still
Is broken by the plaintive voice
 Of a lone whip-poor-will;
And harshly sounds from up the stream
 The whistle of the mill.

The air is soft, and bland, and moist,
 Coming from some south shore,—
It scatters diamonds from the trees,
 Such as queens never wore;
And stealing softly comes the night!—
 Night! and the rain is o'er.