I LOVE the lilting patter of the rain ...
Through tangled traceries of budding boughs
Falling, on frail pale spring growths all a-drowse
In the warm, sun-soft stillness — where the stain
Of tender green spreads slowly towards the lane,
That haunt of black-birds, from whose ruffled throats
Rise round and full the rapturous singing notes
Repeated and repeated yet again. . . .

The rain-drops on the leaves faint music make —
A subtle fleeting sound, ... while blithe and clear
The chime of shrill bird-voices through it break.
We catch stray scents from sweet drenched primrose stars —
... And then the shower is over and rose-bars
Bridge the sun's western garden and gold lake.