Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/391

 THE SINGER

SUMMER RAIN

the night we heard it fall

Tenderly and musical;

And this morning not a sigh

Of wind uplifts the briony leaves,

But the ashen-tinted sky

Still for earthly turmoil grieves,

While the melody of the rain,

Dropping on the window-pane,

On the lilac and the rose,

Round us all its pleasance throws,

Till our souls are yielded wholly

To its constant melancholy, 361