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APRIL RAIN.
Patter, patter, comes down the rain:
Small are the drops, but they fall right fast,
Melting the snow on the frozen plain
Where the stern king of the North has passed.
Dashing and spattering over the pane,
Patter, patter, comes down the rain.
The wind is rough, and the leaden sky
Blusters and frowns at the frozen earth;
Over the heavens the gray clouds fly,
And the firelight flickers upon the hearth.
But I heed not the storm, I hear not the blast;
For Memory is roaming over the Past
