Many a slender naiad, with a sigh,
Is in their arms uptaken from the plain;
The trembling myrmidons of dew remain
No longer than the flash of morning's eye,
Then back unto their misty fountains fly:
This is the source and journey of the rain.
—Edith Matilda Thomas
RAIN
The patient rain at early summer dawn;
The long, lone autumn drip; the damp, sweet hush