THE latter rain, -- it falls in anxious haste Upon the sun-dried fields and branches bare, Loosening with searching drops the rigid waste As if it would each root's lost strength repair; But not a blade grows green as in the spring; No swelling twig puts forth its thickening leaves; The robins only mid the harvests sing, Pecking the grain that scatters from the sheaves; The rain falls still, -- the fruit all ripened drops, It pierces chestnut-bur and walnut-shell; The furrowed fields disclose the yellow crops; Each bursting pod of talents used can tell; And all that once received the early rain Declare to man it was not sent in vain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOTHING WILL CURE THE SICK LION BUT TO EAT AN APE' by MARIANNE MOORE THE CONTRACT by EMILY DICKINSON EPICUREAN by WILLIAM JAMES LINTON INTROSPECTIVE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 23. LOVE'S BAUBLES by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE HOUSE OF LIFE: THE SONNET (INTRODUCTION) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |