RAIN.
HE night is chill and dreary, The rain drips down the pane,The ivy startles and shivers With weight of the sullen rain.Better a fitful tempest, Than this cold sobbing rain,For all the world seems eerie— Will the sun ne'er shine again?
Hark! what a gust sweeps by; O moaning pitiless wind!Frenzied passionate ravings, So like grief of the mind.
But is there no storm, no tempest Abroad on the land to-night?Alas! poor heart look up! the stars Are shining above thee bright.
