Categories
Poetry

Rain BY EDWARD THOMAS – Poetry

Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
For washing me cleaner than I have been
Since I was born into solitude.

Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
Is dying tonight or lying still awake
Solitary, listening to the rain,
Either in pain or thus in sympathy
Helpless among the living and the dead,
Like a cold water among broken reeds,
Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,
Like me who have no love which this wild rain
Has not dissolved except the love of death,
If love it be towards what is perfect and
Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.

Categories
Poetry

Before Summer Rain – Poem by Rainer Maria Rilke

Suddenly, from all the green around you,
something-you don’t know what-has disappeared;
you feel it creeping closer to the window,
in total silence. From the nearby wood

you hear the urgent whistling of a plover,
reminding you of someone’s Saint Jerome:
so much solitude and passion come
from that one voice, whose fierce request the downpour

will grant. The walls, with their ancient portraits, glide
away from us, cautiously, as though
they weren’t supposed to hear what we are saying.

And reflected on the faded tapestries now;
the chill, uncertain sunlight of those long
childhood hours when you were so afraid

 

Categories
Poetry

In Rainy September * Poetry

In rainy September when leaves grow down to the dark 
I put my forehead down to the damp seaweed-smelling sand.
What can we do but choose? The only way for human beings
is to choose.
 The fern has no choice but to live;
for this crime it receives earth water and night.

we close the door.
 "I have no claim on you.
"
Dusk comes.
 "The love I have had with you is enough.
"
We know we could live apart from the flock.
The sheldrake floats apart from the flock.
The oaktree puts out leaves alone on the lonely hillside.

Men and women before us have accomplished this.
I would see you and you me once a year.
We would be two kernels and not be planted.
We stay in the room door closed lights out.
I weep with you without shame and without honor.
Categories
Poetry

Spring Rain by Sara Teasdale * Poetry

As we know, the rainy seasons seem to come between the harsh coldness of winter and the swealtering heats of the summer. Last autumn, we found the perfect poem for the rainy weather – but while autumn rain is more like the undertaker, swiping away the dead leaves, filling the earth with sorrowful thoughts, spring rain brings life, makes the trees bud new leaves and more importantly, cleans away the traces of wrinkles from winter’s old face, showing the new face of spring.522461415

Spring Rain 

by Sara Teasdale
I thought I had forgotten,
But it all came back again
To-night with the first spring thunder
In a rush of rain.