It is its sound unpoisoned with alarm,
Its whisper like the whisper of the sea.
Shouting nor silence, neither enters here—
Only the melody of far-off things.
A drifting cloud makes skies more fair appear,
The wood is stiller for the whir of wings.
RAIN
Rainin’, is it? So it is—
An’ I knew it would.
When a man has rheumatiz