THE RAIN The wind has arisen, and loose from its prison
BY HENRY LOUIS VIVIAN DEROZIO, Esq.
The rain cometh singing to earth;
The sorrowful flowers, that dropped in their bowers,
Now feel the light spirit of mirth.
The blossoms that deep, in the soft arms of sleep,
Lay entranced in sweet visions of bliss,
Awake from their rest, while the sigh from their breast,
Makes response to the rain’s gentle kiss.
Though lured by the love of the great sun above,
The vapors ascended on high,
For earth’s sorrows they felt; and see how they melt,
Into tears from their home in the sky.
Joy lighted the looks of the fountains and brooks,
As they welcomed their kindred again;
And onwards they rolled, more glad than of old,
To declare their delight to the main
The grass on its ear, hung the cloud’s crystal tear,
For so jeweled it rarely had been;
Its robe of dark hue from its shoulders it threw,
And donned a bright mantle of green.
The glad rose in her breast, received the sweet guest,
Who had come with a message from heaven;
Her sorrows were hushed, and she felt, as she blushed,
That new bloom to her beauty was given.
Now, parts of that dome, which the stars call their home,
Were resuming their own native;
And from the rich west, ere he sunk to his rest,
Golden splendor the gorgeous sun threw:
But, ere the sweet spell of the rain bade farewell,
Too the earth which its blessing had cheered,
At parting it wove a soft arch, on which love
Revealed to the minstrel appeared.