After the rain syringa bends
With scented blossoms at the ends
Of all its curving boughs. I think
That Pan himself might pause to drink
At such a fountain as I see.
The heavy headed peony
Drops silken petals, rosy sweet,
Upon a carpet for my feet.
And still the long wisteria drips
Its languid blossoms where the bee
In drowsiest contentment sips
From the deep wells of sweet that he
Has come so far to find. The rain
Sent him to hiding; with the sun
He shakes his pollen laden thighs
And lifts his strong, frail wings and flies
To see what harm the rain has done,
And tries the blossoms, one by one.
The meadow grass is growing long
It's silvered with the drops that cling
Like note that follows note in song
Or crystal beads upon a string.
There's beauty of the moon and sun,
And close of day and day begun,
And I have sung the Milky Way
And shining river, cool and gray,
And hills that are so near to me
I count them in my family;
But of the joys that I have had
In gifts the years bring back again,
Year after year to make me glad,
I love the clean green after rain
When yet there is no rust or stain
On any leaf, but all things are
As if we lived on some new star.
Louise Driscoll (1875-1957)
[Poem is in the public domain in Canada]
Louise Driscoll biography