H.W. Longfellow: Rain in Summer

How appropriate in this unbelievably rainy July to find a poem on rain! These verses are meant to be read out loud so you can enjoy the rhyming pattern and meter. I read that some say this poem is full of gloom, but I think it simply captures the bittersweet emotions that rain can bring. The first 15 lines are happy!

Rain in Summer Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882) HOW beautiful is the rain!  After the dust and heat,  In the broad and fiery street,  In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain! How it clatters along the roofs,  Like the tramp of hoofs!  How it gushes and struggles out  From the throat of the overflowing spout!  Across the window-pane It pours and pours;  And swift and wide,  With a muddy tide,  Like a river down the gutter roars, The rain, the welcome rain! The sick man from his chamber looks  At the twisted brooks;  He can feel the cool  Breath of each little pool;  His fevered brain Grows calm again,  And he breathes a blessing on the rain.  From the neighboring school  Come the boys,  With more than their wonted noise And commotion;  And down the wet streets  Sail their mimic fleets,  Till the treacherous pool  Ingulfs them in its whirling And turbulent ocean.  In the country, on every side,  Where far and wide,  Like a leopard’s tawny and spotted hide,  Stretches the plain, To the dry grass and the drier grain, How welcome is the rain! In the furrowed land  The toilsome and patient oxen stand;  Lifting the yoke-encumbered head, With their dilated nostrils spread,  They silently inhale  The clover-scented gale,  And the vapors that arise  From the well-watered and smoking soil. For this rest in the furrow after toil  Their large and lustrous eyes  Seem to thank the Lord,  More than man’s spoken word.  Near at hand, From under the sheltering trees,  The farmer sees  His pastures, and his fields of grain,  As they bend their tops  To the numberless beating drops Of the incessant rain.  He counts it as no sin  That he sees therein  Only his own thrift and gain.  These, and far more than these, The Poet sees!  He can behold  Aquarius old  Walking the fenceless fields of air;  And from each ample fold Of the clouds about him rolled  Scattering everywhere  The showery rain,  As the farmer scatters his grain.  He can behold Things manifold  That have not yet been wholly told,—  Have not been wholly sung nor said.  For his thought, that never stops,  Follows the water-drops Down to the graves of the dead,  Down through chasms and gulfs profound,  To the dreary fountain-head  Of lakes and rivers underground;  And sees them, when the rain is done, On the bridge of colors seven  Climbing up once more to heaven,  Opposite the setting sun.  Thus the Seer  With vision clear, Sees forms appear and disappear,  In the perpetual round of strange,  Mysterious change  From birth to death, from death to birth,  From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth; Till glimpses more sublime  Of things, unseen before,  Unto his wandering eyes reveal  The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel  Turning forevermore In the rapid and rushing river of Time.  I enjoyed the 4th stanza's illustration: "The sick man...can feel the cool breath of each little pool...his fevered brain grows calm again, and he breathes a blessing on the rain..." An Irish Blessing Hummell Favorites on Pinterest, "Umbrella Kids" (with torn umbrella!)