Viii

“And once, in early May, a sparrow sang Among the garden bushes; and you asked If the suave song stayed knocking at my heart. I smiled some answer, and, behold, that night Found that my heart had locked this fancy in:

Rain, rain, and a ribbon of song Uncurled where the blossoms are sprinkled; The song-sparrow sings, and I long For, the silver-sweet throat, that has tinkled, To sing in the bloom and the rain, Sing again, and again, and again, Under my window-pane.

Rain, rain, and the trickling tips Of the million pink blooms of the quinces; And I hear the song rill from the lips, The lute-haunted lips of my princess: O love! in the rain and the bloom, Sing again in the pelting perfume, Sweetheart, under my room.

Rain, rain, and the dripping of drops From cups of the blossoms they load, or Tilt over with tipsiest tops: And eyes as of sun-beam and odor, There, under the bloom-blowing tree-- A face like a flower to see, Love is looking at me.