Iv

The world was waiting for the thunder’s birth, To-day, and cloud was piled on sullen cloud: Then strong, and straight, and clean, and cool, and loud The rain came down, and drenched the stifling earth. The heavy clouds have lifted and rolled by; The riotous wet leaves with music ring, And now the nightingale begins to sing, And tender as a rose-leaf is the sky.

I wonder if some day this stifling care That weighs upon my heart will fall in showers? I wonder if the hot and heavy hours Will roll away and leave such limpid air, And if my soul will riot in the rain, And sing as gladly as that bird again?