A RAINY DAY

The beauty of this rainy day,

All silver-green and dripping gray,

Has stolen quite my heart away

From all the tasks I meant to do,

Made me forget the resolute blue

And energetic gold of things...

So soft a song the rain-bird sings.

Yet am I glad to miss awhile

The sun's huge domineering smile,

The busy spaces mile on mile,

Shut in behind this shimmering screen

Of falling pearls and phantom green;

As in a cloister walled with rain,

Safe from intrusions, voices vain,

And hurry of invading feet,

Inviolate in my retreat:

Myself, my books, my pipe, my fire —

So runs my rainy-day desire.

Or I old letters may con o'er,

And dream on faces seen no more,

The buried treasure of the years,

Too visionary now for tears;

Open old cupboards and explore

Sometimes, for an old sweetheart's sake,

A delicate romantic ache,

Sometimes a swifter pang of pain

To read old tenderness again,

As though the ink were scarce yet dry,

And She still She and I still I.

What if I were to write as though

Her letter came an hour ago!

An hour ago!— This post-mark says...

But out upon these rainy days!

Come tie the packet up again,

The sun is back — enough of rain.