I woke to the sounds of morning rain
Falling over my window pane.
Waking to the sounds of roaring clouds,
That shuddered all earth, trees in clout,
Though white blurred the rains, all near or far sight,
I felt the bliss of morning's delight.
Like marching troops so full of zest,
Crystal drops reigned the crest.
Smoky morn drapped in white drapes,
Chilled the breeze breathe pure and fresh.
Molten earth regaled in glee,
When pristine drops blew on thee.
It was a morn of chaste mystic feel,
Like a monk in deep meditative zeal,
As if his prayer bore the fruit,
Of sweet salvation pouring all surrounding cool.
Pious day born to glow,
In soft embrace of rain drops sow.
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Comments about this poem (Rains by Ella Goodman )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
William Carlos Williams
(17 September 1883 – 4 March 1963)
(13 February 1879 - 2 March 1949)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(01 January 1950)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
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