Classic Poem

It isn't raining rain to me,
It's raining daffodils;
In every dimpled drop I see
Wild flowers on the hills.
The clouds of grey engulf the day
And overwhelm the town —
It isn't raining rain to me,
It's raining roses down.

It isn't raining rain to me,
But fields of clover bloom
Where any buccaneering bee
May find a bed and room.
A health unto the happy,
A fig for him who frets —
It isn't raining rain to me,
It's raining violets.