Into a land of wandering rain
I have fled from a voice that follows me still
To the lonely cabin under the hill;
It cries to me out of the windless rain.
And at night I hear it crying again.
All day the rain is on the lake,
All night the rain drips from the thatch;
I stand at the cabin door and watch
The drifting rain beat on the lake,
And the foam-white ripples gather and break.
The woods are veiled with the rains all day.
The woods crouch under the rains all night.
And the rainy torrents cry from the height;
I hear in the rain, night and day,
A voice crying from far away.
