The Rain Had Fallen, The Poet Arose, He Pass'D By The Town And Out Of The Street; A Light Wind Blew From The Gates Of The Sun, And Waves Of Shadow Went Over The Wheat; And He Sat Him Down In A Lonely Place, And Chanted A Melody Loud And Sweet, That Made The Wild-Swan Pause In Her Cloud, And The Lark Drop Down At His Feet. The Swallow Stopt As He Hunted The Fly, The Snake Slipt Under A Spray, The Wild Hawk Stood With The Down On His Beak, And Stared, With His Foot On The Prey; And The Nightingale Thought, 'I Have Sung Many Songs, But Never A One So Gay, For He Sings Of What The World Will Be When The Years Have Died Away.'