William Henry Burleigh (1812–1871)

DASHING in big drops on the narrow pane,

And making mournful music for the mind,

While plays his interlude the wizard Wind,

I hear the ringing of the frequent rain:

How doth its dreamy tone the spirit lull,

Bringing a sweet forgetfulness of pain,

While busy thought calls up the past again,

And lingers ’mid the pure and beautiful

Visions of early childhood! Sunny faces

Meet us with looks of love, and in the moans

Of the faint wind we hear familiar tones,

And tread again in old familiar places!

Such is thy power, O Rain! the heart to bless,

Wiling the soul away from its own wretchedness!