Rain After Drought
All night the small feet of the rain
Within the garden ran,
And gentle fingers tapped the pane
Until the dawn began.
The rill-like voices called and sung
The slanting roof beside;
‘The children of the clouds have come;
Awake! awake!’ they cried.
‘Weep no more the drooping rose
Nor mourn the thirsting tree,
The little children of the storm
Have gained their liberty.’
All night the small feet of the rain
About my garden ran,
Their rill-like voices called and cried
Until the dawn began.
