Rain Music
I Love the lilting patter of the rain . . .
Through tangled traceries of budding boughs
Falling, on frail pale spring growths all a-drowse
In the warm, sun-soft stillness—where the stain
Of tender green spreads slowly towards the lane,
That haunt of black-birds, from whose ruffled throats
Rise round and full the rapturous singing notes
Repeated and repeated yet again. . . .
Through tangled traceries of budding boughs
Falling, on frail pale spring growths all a-drowse
In the warm, sun-soft stillness—where the stain
Of tender green spreads slowly towards the lane,
That haunt of black-birds, from whose ruffled throats
Rise round and full the rapturous singing notes
Repeated and repeated yet again. . . .
The rain-drops on the leaves faint music make—
A subtle fleeting sound, . . . while blithe and clear
The chime of shrill bird-voices through it break.
A subtle fleeting sound, . . . while blithe and clear
The chime of shrill bird-voices through it break.
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