Beloved Let Us Once More Praise The Rain

 Beloved, let us once more praise the rain.
 
Let us discover some new alphabet, 
For this, the often praised; and be ourselves, 
The rain, the chickweed, and the burdock leaf, 
The green-white privet flower, the spotted stone, 
And all that welcomes the rain; the sparrow too,—
Who watches with a hard eye from seclusion, 
Beneath the elm-tree bough, till rain is done.
 
There is an oriole who, upside down, 
Hangs at his nest, and flicks an orange wing,—
Under a tree as dead and still as lead; 
There is a single leaf, in all this heaven 
Of leaves, which rain has loosened from its twig: 
The stem breaks, and it falls, but it is caught 
Upon a sister leaf, and thus she hangs; 
There is an acorn cup, beside a mushroom 
Which catches three drops from the stooping cloud.
 
The timid bee goes back to the hive; the fly 
Under the broad leaf of the hollyhock 
Perpends stupid with cold; the raindark snail 
Surveys the wet world from a watery stone.
.
.
 
And still the syllables of water whisper: 
The wheel of cloud whirs slowly: while we wait 
In the dark room; and in your heart I find 
One silver raindrop,—on a hawthorn leaf,— 
Orion in a cobweb, and the World.

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