The Rainy Morning

written by


« Reload image

The dawn of the day was dreary,
  And the lowering clouds o'erhead
Wept in a silent sorrow
  Where the sweet sunshine lay dead;
And a wind came out of the eastward
  Like an endless sigh of pain,
And the leaves fell down in the pathway
  And writhed in the falling rain.

I had tried in a brave endeavor
  To chord my harp with the sun,
But the strings would slacken ever,
  And the task was a weary one:
And so, like a child impatient
  And sick of a discontent,
I bowed in a shower of tear-drops
  And mourned with the instrument.

And lo! as I bowed, the splendor
  Of the sun bent over me,
With a touch as warm and tender
  As a father's hand might be:
And, even as I felt its presence,
  My clouded soul grew bright,
And the tears, like the rain of morning,
  Melted in mists of light.

© James Whitcomb Riley