Rain

I hear the soft re-iterance of the rain
Upon the roof above me, like a tune
With melancholy measure, one as hoar
As are the silent footfalls of old Time.
And though the burden borne unto mine ear
Runs in the plaintive minor, yet my mood
Is rather one of rapture than of pain.
Albeit alone, the demon loneliness
Is by a kindly angel exorcised;
I brush aside the cobwebs of the years
As one breaks gossamer, and cloudy morns,
And likewise long unazured afternoons,
Are quick again. Eyes on responsive eyes
Linger and flash; voice answers friendly voice,
And laughter soars as does the thrush uncaged.
High 'neath the eaves upon the hills of hay
The boys, now gray, touch hand and heart again,
Whiles with insistent monotone above
Murmurs the rain-song. Ah, I love the sound, —
The soothing, soft re-iterance of the rain!