Henry David Thoreau
The Summer Rain
My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
Plutarch was good, and so was Homer too,
Our Shakespeare's life were rich to live again,
What Plutarch read, that was not good nor true,
Nor Shakespeare's books, unless his books were men.
Here while I lie beneath this walnut bough,
What care I for the Greeks or for Troy town,
If juster battles are enacted now
Between the ants upon this hummock's crown?
Bid Homer wait till I the issue learn,
If red or black the gods will favor most,
Or yonder Ajax will the phalanx turn,
Struggling to heave some rock against the host.
Tell Shakespeare to attend some leisure hour,
For now I've business with this drop of dew,
And see you not, the clouds prepare a shower--
I'll meet him shortly when the sky is blue.
This bed of herd's grass and wild oats was spread
Last year with nicer skill than monarchs use.
A clover tuft is pillow for my head,
And violets quite overtop my shoes.
And now the cordial clouds have shut all in,
And gently swells the wind to say all's well;
The scattered drops are falling fast and thin,
Some in the pool, some in the flower-bell.
I am well drenched upon my bed of oats;
But see that globe come rolling down its stem,
Now like a lonely planet there it floats,
And now it sinks into my garment's hem.
Drip drip the trees for all the country round,
And richness rare distills from every bough;
The wind alone it is makes every sound,
Shaking down crystals on the leaves below.
For shame the sun will never show himself,
Who could not with his beams e'er melt me so;
My dripping locks--they would become an elf,
Who in a beaded coat does gayly go.
Henry David Thoreau's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Summer Rain by Henry David Thoreau )
- It Really Ain't So Bad.... In Hell ......., Bri Edwards
- Crushed Cookies...... [HUMOR; SHORT; re.., Bri Edwards
- Where Did Mommy Go, Stephen Morris Jr
- me sisters dog, lee fones
- On Cold Grey Mountain, John Martinez
- I KNEW LOVE, SHARON YAKOWA
- I'm Still Here, Stephen Morris Jr
- tramp, lee fones
- Leaves On The Grass, Poetic Lilly Emery
- Thought Process, Mitta Xinindlu
Poem of the Day
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- No Man Is An Island, John Donne
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- "Hope" is the thing with feathers, Emily Dickinson
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)