The apple blossoms were born this year in rain,
Opened in rain and fell in falling rain,
Mingling white petals with the darker rain.
With violins and with the bird-voiced flute
Sing requiem quiet, quiet as the rain.

The rain withdrew and through the hilly woods
The thrushes called and answered and were still,
The moon shone on the rippled dog-wood flowers,
The scents of evening changed from afternoon.

Rising in mist, falling as mist, the rain
Returns, a vaporous ghost; the old church bell
Is lost in fog and loses half its notes.
The black night wrapped in white mist comes again
Singing a requiem of falling rain.