RAIN on the windows, creaking doors, With blasts that besom the green, And I am here, and you are there, And a hundred miles between! O were it but the weather, Dear, O were it but the miles That summed up all our severance, There might be room for smiles. But that thwart thing betwixt us twain, Which nothing cleaves or clears, Is more than distance, Dear, or rain, And longer than the years! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: SARAH BROWN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE IMPORTANCE OF GREEN by JAMES GALVIN MOTHER JUNKIE by CLARENCE MAJOR SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MAGRADY GRAHAM by EDGAR LEE MASTERS IMPRESSIONS OF FRANCOIS-MARIE AROUET (DE VOLTAIRE) by EZRA POUND |