Classic Poem

All night the small feet of the rain
Within my garden ran,
And gentle fingers tapped the pane
Until the dawn began.

The rill-like voices called and sang
The slanting roof beside;
“The children of the clouds have come;
Awake! Awake!” they cried.

“Weep no more the drooping rose,
Nor mourn the thirsting tree;
The little children of the storm
Have gained their liberty.”

All night the small feet of the rain
About my garden ran;
Their rill-like voices called and cried
Until the dawn began.