Rain

I love to hear upon the walk
The rain that comes on nights in spring,
So warm and soft and pattering
It seems to fairly talk.

It tells me of arbutus shy,
That hides in moss beside a tree,
Of crocus and anemone
That peek out at the sky.

It fills with earthly scent the night,
And glistens on the new green leaves;
It drips and drips from shining eaves
And sparkles in the light.

Mary Brackett, ’26.