How cool and wet the lowlands lie Beneath the cloaked and hooded sky! How softly beats the welcome rain Against the plashy window-pane! There is no sail upon the bay: We cannot go abroad to-day, But, darlings, come and take my hand, And hear a tale of Fairy-land. The baby's little head shall rest In quiet on his father's breast, And mother, if he chance to stir, Shall sing him songs once sung to her. Ah, little ones, ye do not fret Because the garden grass is wet; Ye love the rains, whene'er they come That all day keep your father home. No fish to-day the net shall yield; The happy oxen graze afield; The thirsty corn will drink its fill, And louder sing the woodland rill. Then, darlings, nestle round the hearth; Ye are the sunshine of the earth: Your tender eyes so fondly shine, They bring a welcome rain to mine | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SESTINA OF THE TRAMP ROYAL by RUDYARD KIPLING THE MEDITATION OF THE OLD FISHERMAN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS TO BARON DE STONNE.....TO FIND HIMSELF BETWEEN by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD AD S. ANGELUM CUSTODEM by JOSEPH BEAUMONT NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 30 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT MY FOOLISH DEEDS by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH LIFE EFFECTUAL by ANNE MILLAY BREMER |