Summer Rain
What sound more pleasant to the ear from birth
Than evening showers on the orchard leaves?
For then the child in every heart believes
That every thing is solaced on the earth.
Horror, dismay—all evils that men do,
Despair and rage, were never, never true.
How good the dripping of the ivied boughs,
The bolt upon the square Victorian pane,
The unimpassioned running tears of rain,
The dark receiving safety round the house.
Despair and rage and horror and dismay
Were never real, and now are washed away.
Than evening showers on the orchard leaves?
For then the child in every heart believes
That every thing is solaced on the earth.
Horror, dismay—all evils that men do,
Despair and rage, were never, never true.
How good the dripping of the ivied boughs,
The bolt upon the square Victorian pane,
The unimpassioned running tears of rain,
The dark receiving safety round the house.
Despair and rage and horror and dismay
Were never real, and now are washed away.
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