All day the low-hung clouds have dropped
Their garnered fulness down;
All day that soft gray mist hath wrapped
Hill, valley, grove, and town.
There has not been a sound to-day
To break the calm of nature:
Nor motion, I might almost say,
Of life, or living creature;
Of waving bough, or warbling bird,
Or cattle faintly lowing;
I could have half-believed I heard
The leaves and blossoms growing.
I stood to hear--I love it well--
The rain’s continuous sound;
Small drops, but thick and fast they fell,
Down straight into the ground.
For leafy thickness is not yet
Earth’s naked breast to screen,
Though every dripping branch is set
With shoots of tender green.
Sure, since I looked at early morn,
Those honeysuckle buds
Have swelled to double growth; that thorn
Hath put forth larger studs;
That lilac’s cleaving cones have burst,
The milk-white flowers revealing;
Even now, upon my senses first
Methinks their sweets are stealing.
Down, down they come,--those fruitful stores!
Those earth-rejoicing drops!
A momentary deluge pours,
Then thins, decreases, stops;
And, ere the dimples on the stream
Have circled out of sight,
Lo! from the west a parting gleam
Breaks forth of amber light.
But yet behold! abrupt and loud
Comes down the glittering rain:
The farewell of a passing cloud,
The fringes of her train.
--CAROLINE BOWLES SOUTHEY.