A DROWSY rain is stealing
In slowness without stop;
The sun-dried earth is feeling
Its coolness, drop by drop.
The clouds are slowly wasting
Their too long garnered store,
Each thirsty clod is tasting
One drop—and then one more.
Oh, ravishing as slumber
To wearied limbs and eyes,
And countless as the number
Of stars in wintry skies,
And sweet as the caresses
By baby fingers made,
These delicate rain kisses
On leaf and flower and blade.
The Patient Earth
I
THE patient earth that loves the grass,
The flocks and herds that o’er it pass,
That guards the smallest summer nest
Within her scented bosom pressed,
And gives to beetle, moth, and bee
A lavish hospitality,
Still waits through weary years to bind
The hearts of suffering human kind.
II
HOW far we roamed away from her,
The tender mother of us all!
Yet ’mid the city’s noises stir
The sound of birds that call and call,
Wind melodies that rise and fall
Along the perfumed woodland wall
We looked upon with childhood’s eyes;
The ugly streets are all a blur,
And in our hearts are homesick cries.