from The April Day
All day the low hung clouds have dropt
Their garnered fulness down;
All day that soft grey mist hath wrapt
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 skreen,
Though ev'ry 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;
Ev'n now upon my senses first,
Methinks their sweets are stealing:
The very earth, the steamy air,
Is all with fragrance rife!
And grace and beauty ev'ry where
Are flushing into life.
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.
It slants along that emerald mead,
Across those poplars tall,
And brightens every rain-gloss'd weed
On that old mossy wall.
The windows of that mansion old
Rekindled by the blaze,
Reflect in flames of living gold,
The concentrated rays.
But yet, behold — abrupt and loud,
Comes down the glittering rain —
The farewell of a passing cloud,
The fringes of its train.
'Tis o'er — the blackbird's glossy wing
Flirts off the sparkling spray,
As yon tall elm he mounts, to sing
His evening roundelay.
~~
Caroline Bowles Southey (1786-1854)
from The Widow's Tale, and other poems, 1822
[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]
Maciej Lewandowski, "Rainy Day in a Scottish Village," April 2004.
