It is not raining rain to me,
It's raining daffodils;
In every dimpled drop I see
Wild flowers on the hills.
The clouds of gray engulf the day,
And overwhelm the town;
It is not raining rain to me,
It's raining roses down.
It is not raining rain to me,
But fields of clover bloom,
Where any bucanneering bee
May find a bed and room.
A health unto the happy!
A fig for him who frets;
It is not raining rain to me,
It's raining violets.
--_Robert Loveman._