I. O Many-Toned Rain! O Myriad Sweet Voices Of The Rain! How Welcome Is Its Delicate Overture At Evening, When The Glowing-Moistur'D West Seals All Things With Cool Promise Of Night'S Rest! At First It Would Allure The Earth To Kinder Mood, With Dainty Flattering Of Soft, Sweet Pattering: Faintly Now You Hear The Tramp Of The Fine Drops Falling Damp On The Dry, Sun-Seasoned Ground And The Thirsty Leaves Around. But Anon, Imbued With A Sudden, Bounding Access Of Passion, It Relaxes All Timider Persuasion, And, With Nor Pretext Nor Occasion, Its Wooing Redoubles; And Pounds The Ground, And Bubbles In Sputtering Spray, Flinging Itself In A Fury Of Flashing White Away; Till The Dusty Road Flings A Perfume Dank Abroad, And The Grass, And The Wide-Hung Trees, The Vines, The Flowers In Their Beds, The Vivid Corn That To The Breeze Rustles Along The Garden-Rows, Visibly Lift Their Heads, - And, As The Shower Wilder Grows, Upleap With Answering Kisses To The Rain. Then, The Slow And Pleasant Murmur Of Its Subsiding, As The Pulse Of The Storm Beats Firmer, And The Steady Rain Drops Into A Cadenced Chiding. Deep-Breathing Rain, The Sad And Ghostly Noise Wherewith Thou Dost Complain, - Thy Plaintive, Spiritual Voice, Heard Thus At Close Of Day Through Vaults Of Twilight-Gray, - Doth Vex Me With Sweet Pain! And Still My Soul Is Fain To Know The Secret Of That Yearning Which In Thine Utterance I Hear Returning. Hush, Oh Hush! Break Not The Dreamy Rush Of The Rain: Touch Not The Marring Doubt Words Bring, To The Certainty Of Its Soft Refrain, But Let The Flying Fringes Flout Their Gouts Against The Pane, And The Gurgling Throat Of The Water-Spout Groan In The Eaves Amain. The Earth Is Wedded To The Shower. Darkness And Awe, Gird Round The Bridal-Hour! Ii. O Many-Ton?D Rain! It Hath Caught The Strain Of A Wilder Tune, Ere The Same Night'S Noon, When Dreams And Sleep Forsake Me, And Sudden Dread Doth Wake Me, To Hear The Booming Drums Of Heaven Beat The Long Roll To Battle; When The Knotted Cloud, With An Echoing Loud, Bursts Asunder At The Sudden Resurrection Of The Thunder; And The Fountains Of The Air, Unsealed Again Sweep, Ruining, Everywhere, To Wrap The World In A Watery Winding-Sheet. Iii. O Myriad Sweet Voices Of The Rain! When The Airy War Doth Wane, And The Storm To The East Hath Flown, Cloaked Close In The Whirling Wind, There'S A Voice Still Left Behind In Each Heavy-Hearted Tree, Charged With Tearful Memory Of The Vanished Rain: From Their Leafy Lashes Wet Drip The Dews Of Fresh Regret For The Lover That's Gone! All Else Is Still. But The Stars Are Listening; And Low O'Er The Wooded Hill Hangs, Upon Listless Wing Outspread, A Shape Of Damp, Blue Cloud, Watching, Like A Bird Of Evil That Knows No Mercy Nor Reprieval, The Slow And Silent Death Of The Pallid Moon. Iv. But Soon, Returning Duly, Dawn Whitens The Wet Hill-Tops Bluely. To Her Vision Pure And Cold The Night'S Wild Tale Is Told On The Glistening Leaf, In The Mid-Road Pool, The Garden Mold Turned Dark And Cool, And The Meadow'S Trampled Acres. But Hark, How Fresh The Song Of The Winged Music-Makers! For Now The Moanings Bitter, Left By The Rain, Make Harmony With The Swallow'S Matin-Twitter, And The Robin'S Note, Like The Wind'S In A Tree: The Infant Morning Breathes Sweet Breath, And With It Is Blent The Wistful, Wild, Moist Scent Of The Grass In The Marsh Which The Sea Nourisheth: And Behold! The Last Reluctant Drop Of The Storm, Wrung From The Roof, Is Smitten Warm And Turned To Gold; For In Its Veins Doth Run The Very Blood Of The Bold, Unsullied Sun!