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Project Gutenberg Australia HomeReturn to Index of Poems
At my window I sit
With a fire burning by,
While the rain pat-a-pit
Tumbles down from the sky
With the throb
And the sob
Of the languishing earth in its gladsome refrain;
And I watch and I listen,
As pearly beads glisten.
And splatter and splash like a frost on the pane,
Asthey beat,
Softly sweet,
On the roof,
Like the hum of a drum, or as cavalry come
From aloof
To the ting
Of the drops,
As they sing
Through the crops—
The beautiful land-waking song of the rain.
Then I think of the times when my lamp was a star,
When I camped ‘neath the pines and the wailing belar,
And the firing with wet wood was labor in rain—
But the rain is a blessing wherever you are!
I hear a shrill voice
Of the winds as they pass,
Loud crying “Rejoice”
With the leaves
By the caves
Like a swarm of brown butterflies borne in its train;
And the rain slants and lightens,
It swishes and brightens,
Or sweeps with a roar over ridges and plain;
And the wheat
In retreat
Lowly bends
To the wail of the gale and the hard-pelting hail
That attends;
While the frogs
In their might
Cry in logs
With delight
At the glorious, soul-soothing song of the rain.
Then come visions of pens and yards sticky as tar,
Where the cow is supreme, and her husband is Czar,
And of low river-farms where the flood leaves its stain—
But the rain is a blessing wherever you are!
Through the smothering haze
That the high world enshrouds,
Strikes a sudden white blaze
‘Cross the scurrying clouds
That awhile
Seems to smile
On the freshening flower and the quickening grain;
And the roof trembles under
The peals of loud thunder
That echo and rumble and echo again;
Then the sound
All around
Of small rills,
And the slush and the gush of wild waters that rush
Down the hills;
While the trees,
Shedding spray,
In the breeze
Toss and sway
To the magical, murmuring song of the rain.
Then I’m riding old rides ‘mid the tall coolabah,
Where the thunderbolts hurtle and shatter and soar,
And the hurricane rips the deep forest in twain
But the rain is a blessing wherever you are!
I see the ducks pass
From their home-waters cool,
To disport on the grass,
And in puddle and pool
On the low
Lands aglow;
But the swallows are sharing my cosy domain;
And they snuggle and chatter,
They tweet to the patter,
They guggle and gurgle in gutter and drain;
To the drip
From the whip
Of the squall;
And the dash and the splash of the pluvial lash
On the wall;
While the gray
Plover cries
As the day
Slowly dies,
To the comforting, soft lulling song of the rain.
Then I dream of the days when I wandered afar,
With no handy decanter, no bulging cigar;
And my lot is a lot that no swain would disdain—
But the rain is a blessing wherever you are!
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