Classic Poem

When heather and hill are glad with bloom,
And the grass is tall and green,
And the moth and the glancing dragon fly
About the brooks are seen;
Though brute and bird are glad again,
In the light of the Summer lea,
There is joy for the many moods of men,
And the rainy days are the days for me!

Something of sadness, I know not what,
Yet pleasure more than pain,
Like minor music is borne to me,
In the sweep of the summer rain.
So tender and sweet the peace it brings,
I love it howe'er it be,
And have made a song my fancy sings —
The rainy days are the days for me!

When bees creep into hollyhocks,
And the violet closes her hood,
And the mountain showers come dancing down
And roaring over the wood;
Under the roof I laugh amain,
As I hark to the hornpipe free,
Of the myriad-footed, musical rain —
Rain of Summer, so dear to me!

For the snow will come when the earth is dead,
And the butterfly-days are done;
When the lark no more shall carol in air,
Nor the mill-wheel flash in the sun;
When the East is cold, and the wind complains
In the reeds by the shivering sea,
And I shall sigh for the warm June rains —
For the Summer rain, so dear to me!