Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership



Best Famous Rain Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Rain poems. This is a select list of the best famous Rain poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Rain poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of rain poems.

Search for the best famous Rain poems, articles about Rain poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Rain poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See also: Best Member Poems

by Robert Herrick | |

To Find God

Weigh me the fire; or canst thou find
A way to measure out the wind?
Distinguish all those floods that are
Mixed in that wat'ry theater,
And taste thou them as saltless there,
As in their channel first they were.
Tell me the people that do keep Within the kingdoms of the deep; Or fetch me back that cloud again, Beshivered into seeds of rain.
Tell me the motes, dust, sands, and spears Of corn, when summer shakes his ears; Show me that world of stars, and whence They noiseless spill their influence.
This if thou canst; then show me Him That rides the glorious cherubim.


by Thomas Hardy | |

Hap

If but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh:  "Thou suffering thing,
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
That thy love's loss is my hate's profiting!"

Then would I bear it, clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.
But not so.
How arrives it joy lies slain, And why unblooms the best hope ever sown? —Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain, And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan.
.
.
.
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.


by Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings | |

i have found what you are like

i have found what you are like
the rain 

(Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep.
wields easily the pale club of the wind and swirled justly souls of flower strike the air in utterable coolness deeds of green thrilling light with thinne d newfragile blues lurch and.
press -in the woods which stutter and sing And the coolness of your smile is stirringofbirds between my arms;but i should rather than anything have(almost when hugeness will shut quietly)almost your kiss


More great poems below...

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | |

The Day is Done

THE DAY is done and the darkness 
Falls from the wings of Night  
As a feather is wafted downward 
From an eagle in his flight.
I see the lights of the village 5 Gleam through the rain and the mist And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing That is not akin to pain 10 And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Come read to me some poem Some simple and heartfelt lay That shall soothe this restless feeling 15 And banish the thoughts of day.
Not from the grand old masters Not from the bards sublime Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time.
20 For like strains of martial music Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor; And to-night I long for rest.
Read from some humbler poet 25 Whose songs gushed from his heart As showers from the clouds of summer Or tears from the eyelids start; Who through long days of labor And nights devoid of ease 30 Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care And come like the benediction 35 That follows after prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.
40 And the night shall be filled with music And the cares that infest the day Shall fold their tents like the Arabs And as silently steal away.


by Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings | |

Anyone Lived In A Pretty How Town

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and samll)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their
same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by moe they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april

wish by spirit and if by yes

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer sutumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain


by Edward Estlin (E E) Cummings | |

along the brittle treacherous bright streets

along the brittle treacherous bright streets

of memory comes my heart singing like
an idiot whispering like drunken man

who(at a certain corner suddenly)meets
the tall policeman of my mind.
awake being not asleep elsewhere our dreams began which now are folded:but the year completes his life as a forgotten prisoner -"Ici?"-"Ah non mon chéri;il fait trop froid"- they are gone:along these gardens moves a wind br inging rain and leaves filling the air with fear and sweetness.
.
.
.
pauses.
(Halfwhispering.
.
.
.
half singing stirs the always smiling chevaux de bois) when you were in Paris we met here


by Sylvia Plath | |

Elm

for Ruth Fainlight


I know the bottom, she says.
I know it with my great tap root; It is what you fear.
I do not fear it: I have been there.
Is it the sea you hear in me, Its dissatisfactions? Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness? Love is a shadow.
How you lie and cry after it.
Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.
All night I shall gallup thus, impetuously, Till your head is a stone, your pillow a little turf, Echoing, echoing.
Or shall I bring you the sound of poisons? This is rain now, the big hush.
And this is the fruit of it: tin white, like arsenic.
I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
Scorched to the root My red filaments burn and stand,a hand of wires.
Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs.
A wind of such violence Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.
The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me Cruelly, being barren.
Her radiance scathes me.
Or perhaps I have caught her.
I let her go.
I let her go Diminished and flat, as after radical surgery.
How your bad dreams possess and endow me.
I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.
I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
Clouds pass and disperse.
Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart? I am incapable of more knowledge.
What is this, this face So murderous in its strangle of branches? ---- Its snaky acids kiss.
It petrifies the will.
These are the isolate, slow faults That kill, that kill, that kill.


by Percy Bysshe Shelley | |

Lines to an Indian Air

I ARISE from dreams of thee 
In the first sweet sleep of night, 
When the winds are breathing low 
And the stars are shining bright¡ª 
I arise from dreams of thee, 5 
And a spirit in my feet 
Hath led me¡ªwho knows how? 
To thy chamber-window, Sweet! 

The wandering airs they faint 
On the dark, the silent stream; 10 
The champak odours fail 
Like sweet thoughts in a dream; 
The nightingale's complaint 
It dies upon her heart, 
As I must die on thine, 15 
O belov¨¨d, as thou art! 

O lift me from the grass! 
I die, I faint, I fail! 
Let thy love in kisses rain 
On my lips and eyelids pale.
20 My cheek is cold and white, alas! My heart beats loud and fast; O press it close to thine again Where it will break at last!


by Percy Bysshe Shelley | |

The Indian Serenade

I ARISE from dreams of thee 
In the first sweet sleep of night, 
When the winds are breathing low, 
And the stars are shining bright.
I arise from dreams of thee, 5 And a spirit in my feet Hath led me¡ªwho knows how? To thy chamber window, Sweet! The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream¡ª 10 And the champak's odours [pine] Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale's complaint, It dies upon her heart, As I must on thine, 15 O belov¨¨d as thou art! O lift me from the grass! I die! I faint! I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale.
20 My cheek is cold and white, alas! My heart beats loud and fast: O press it to thine own again, Where it will break at last!


by William Cullen Bryant | |

The Death of the Flowers

THE MELANCHOLY days have come the saddest of the year  
Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sere; 
Heaped in the hollows of the grove the autumn leaves lie dead; 
They rustle to the eddying gust and to the rabbit's tread; 
The robin and the wren are flown and from the shrubs the jay 5 
And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
Where are the flowers the fair young flowers that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of ours.
10 The rain is falling where they lie but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
The wind-flower and the violet they perished long ago And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; But on the hill the goldenrod and the aster in the wood 15 And the blue sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven as falls the plague on men And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland glade and glen.
And now when comes the calm mild day as still such days will come To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; 20 When the sound of dropping nuts is heard though all the trees are still And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died 25 The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side.
In the cold moist earth we laid her when the forests cast the leaf And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief: Yet not unmeet it was that one like that young friend of ours So gentle and so beautiful should perish with the flowers.
30


by William Cullen Bryant | |

The Crowded Street

LET me move slowly through the street  
Filled with an ever-shifting train  
Amid the sound of steps that beat 
The murmuring walks like autumn rain.
How fast the flitting figures come! 5 The mild the fierce the stony face; Some bright with thoughtless smiles and some Where secret tears have left their trace.
They pass¡ªto toil to strife to rest; To halls in which the feast is spread; 10 To chambers where the funeral guest In silence sits beside the dead.
And some to happy homes repair Where children pressing cheek to cheek With mute caresses shall declare 15 The tenderness they cannot speak.
And some who walk in calmness here Shall shudder as they reach the door Where one who made their dwelling dear Its flower its light is seen no more.
20 Youth with pale cheek and slender frame And dreams of greatness in thine eye! Go'st thou to build an early name Or early in the task to die? Keen son of trade with eager brow! 25 Who is now fluttering in thy snare? Thy golden fortunes tower they now Or melt the glittering spires in air? Who of this crowd to-night shall tread The dance till daylight gleam again? 30 Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead? Who writhe in throes of mortal pain? Some famine-struck shall think how long The cold dark hours how slow the light; And some who flaunt amid the throng 35 Shall hide in dens of shame to-night.
Each where his tasks or pleasures call They pass and heed each other not.
There is who heeds who holds them all In His large love and boundless thought.
40 These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward aimless course to tend Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.


by Sara Teasdale | |

Spring Rain

 I thought I had forgotten,
 But it all came back again
To-night with the first spring thunder
 In a rush of rain.
I remembered a darkened doorway Where we stood while the storm swept by, Thunder gripping the earth And lightning scrawled on the sky.
The passing motor busses swayed, For the street was a river of rain, Lashed into little golden waves In the lamp light's stain.
With the wild spring rain and thunder My heart was wild and gay; Your eyes said more to me that night Than your lips would ever say.
.
.
.
I thought I had forgotten, But it all came back again To-night with the first spring thunder In a rush of rain.


by Sara Teasdale | |

In The End

 All that could never be said,
All that could never be done,
Wait for us at last
Somewhere back of the sun;

All the heart broke to forego
Shall be ours without pain,
We shall take them as lightly as girls
Pluck flowers after rain.
And when they are ours in the end Perhaps after all The skies will not open for us Nor heaven be there at our call.


by Sara Teasdale | |

Barter

 Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things;
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up,
Holding wonder like a cup.
Life has loveliness to sell; Music like a curve of gold, Scent of pine trees in the rain, Eyes that love you, arms that hold, And, for the Spirit's still delight, Holy thoughts that star the night.
Give all you have for loveliness; Buy it, and never count the cost! For one white, singing hour of peace Count many a year of strife well lost; And for a breath of ecstasy, Give all you have been, or could be.


by Sara Teasdale | |

Sleepless

 If I could have your arms tonight-
But half the world and the broken sea
Lie between you and me.
The autumn rain reverberates in the courtyard, Beating all night against the barren stone, The sound of useless rain in the desolate courtyard Makes me more alone.
If you were here, if you were only here- My blood cries out to you all night in vain As sleepless as the rain.


by Dimitris Varos | |

Mind Games

 I am a waterfall in the desert.
A rain from a cloudless sky.
A well known but unborn child.
An insistence experience that you never had.
I play mind games with your brain.
When you strike the keys and remember the sea I come as indefinable memory.
When you look at your watch and the time has passed you feel me like a fleeting hallucination.
I play mind games with your brain.
I’m nesting behind your eyes.
I’m ranging through your dreams.
You are finding me in all of your desires.
In all of those are absent from you.
I play mind games with your brain.
I stand in the places that you cannot reach.
I exist where you cannot touch upon.
But I am what you always waiting for I m what holds your life on.
I play mind games with your brain.
But I swear this is not a fun.
I feel unbearable loneliness.
Because I do not have a body And you, that you have, refuse me yours.


by Wole Soyinka | |

Dedication

Dedication

for Moremi, 1963

Earth will not share the rafter's envy; dung floors
Break, not the gecko's slight skin, but its fall
Taste this soil for death and plumb her deep for life

As this yam, wholly earthed, yet a living tuber
To the warmth of waters, earthed as springs
As roots of baobab, as the hearth.
The air will not deny you.
Like a top Spin you on the navel of the storm, for the hoe That roots the forests plows a path for squirrels.
Be ageless as dark peat, but only that rain's Fingers, not the feet of men, may wash you over.
Long wear the sun's shadow; run naked to the night.
Peppers green and red—child—your tongue arch To scorpion tail, spit straight return to danger's threats Yet coo with the brown pigeon, tendril dew between your lips.
Shield you like the flesh of palms, skyward held Cuspids in thorn nesting, insealed as the heart of kernel— A woman's flesh is oil—child, palm oil on your tongue Is suppleness to life, and wine of this gourd From self-same timeless run of runnels as refill Your podlings, child, weaned from yours we embrace Earth's honeyed milk, wine of the only rib.
Now roll your tongue in honey till your cheeks are Swarming honeycombs—your world needs sweetening, child.
Camwood round the heart, chalk for flight Of blemish—see? it dawns!—antimony beneath Armpits like a goddess, and leave this taste Long on your lips, of salt, that you may seek None from tears.
This, rain-water, is the gift Of gods—drink of its purity, bear fruits in season.
Fruits then to your lips: haste to repay The debt of birth.
Yield man-tides like the sea And ebbing, leave a meaning of the fossilled sands.


by Olu Oguibe | |

Song of Sorrow

Song of Sorrow 
for rosa diez

si només, però, aquesta
llum parada poguès durar 


I shall sing you a song of 
Sorrow when the moment comes.
It is the way of poets.
He will come bearing along his voice Like the lament of an old guitar.
Only night shall fall; another day dawn.
I shall sing you a tearful song.
In the desert the rain fell on me.
Bushfires danced their way through The undergrowth of my verse.
Your footfall soft as felt, you Stepped into the light and Asked the poet for a song.
I shall sing you a lyric of pain.
The blue moon peers through the foliage Of your eyelashes.
The minstrel hawks His tears through the streets of night.
A household god is asking for water; An old god is pleading at your door.
There's a white rose on your breast.
It is the fortune of poets; I shall sing you a song.
Untie the fresh leaves of dawn, I want to make my journey short.
I will go upon the hill and cast my little net, Decorate the river of your morning with petals; I shall speak the words of songs.
It is the destiny of poets.
I shall sing you A song of sorrow When the moment comes.


by | |

A Plum Pudding


Flour of England, fruit of Spain,
  Met together in a shower of rain;
Put in a bag tied round with a string;
  If you'll tell me this riddle,
  I'll give you a ring.


by | |

Doctor Foster


Doctor Foster went to Glo'ster,
  In a shower of rain;
He stepped in a puddle, up to his middle,
  And never went there again.


by Marcin Malek | |

A SPRING

Long stalks of rain
are growing from the skies
down towards ash-black soil,
softer than deer hearts
frozen in concentration
at river banks

Everything that is not here
lies beyond these waters – more effusive
than a fisherman’s song,
when come evening time
they sail back to theirs rocky homes
settled at Shannon’s ridges
winding like a maggot in a downpour
and greener still
than eyes of women
that bear the same name

Wise men of Cuilcagh –
the orchard’s guardians
they knew the danger,
sowing the seeds of forbidden fruits
That she will come – an innocent girl
Who’d turn her lips and then flow
like morning dew into the world
of underground streams

And when September fog will fall
her ghost will rise up through the night
and like a sea gull at open sea
hanging in midair, once more,
she will look
into the depths of Lough Allen 


by Marcin Malek | |

“SINN”

We are the anthems trumpets
long-maned waves and roaring seas
we are the heavy columns of clouds
and eager sharp granite fangs

we are the yellow sands
that marble moon grey dust
a stone’s shadow as hard as tears
of river streams and famine time

we boundless days empty nights
blood on the threshold iris of guns
hangman's ropes and trenches –
of gaping hollow graves

We are life itself – heathers
of dreams woven by mist
enchanted in pearls of rain
that sleep on top of Carrantuohill

We are among the songs and poems
beneath the dreams and fairytales
we are struggling blizzards and showers
under the wing of the black prophetess

We are the notes of songs
music was born from us –
we are the rays of the beginning
and shadows of the past –
the memory of ancient times
so distant but close to every heart 


by Omer Tarin | |

It has been some time

It has been some time, since we spoke in rhyme
my love;

And tonight I behold you anew
Burning with your adored endlessness

As reckless as the morning dew,
caressing the rose in its repose

Rising with the sun, 
to be one, 
descending with the rain,

Reborn in pain
torn in twain
driven insane;

Somewhere, out there,
within your vast domain,
when we unite
there is no day or night.
(from ''Burnt Offerings'', 1996)


by Anonymous | |

A LITTLE SONNET ABOUT LITTLE THINGS.

The little, smoky vapors
Produce the drops of rain;
These little drops commingle,
And form the boundless main.
Then, drops compose the fountains;
And little grains of sand
Compose the mighty mountains,
That high above us stand.
The little atoms, it is said,
Compose the solid earth;
Such truths will show, if rightly read,
What little things are worth.
For, as the sea of drops is made,
So it is Heaven’s plan,
That atoms should compose the globe,
And actions mark the man.
The little seconds soon pass by,
And leave our time the less;
And on these moments, as they fly,
Hang woe or happiness.
For, as the present hour is spent,
So must the future be;
Each action lives, in its effect,
Through all eternity.
[Pg 022]
The little sins and follies,
That lead the soul astray,
Leave stains, that tears of penitence,
May never wash away.
And little acts of charity,
And little deeds of love,
May make this world a paradise,
Like to that world above.


by Anonymous | |

THE VIOLET.

“Oh, mother! mother! only look!
See what I’ve got for thee;
I found it close beside the brook,—
This pretty violet,—see.
“And father says there will be more
So, mother, when they come,
We’ll pick my little basket full,
And bring them with us home.
[Pg 034]
“And, mother,—only listen now!
’Tis very strange, indeed,—
This pretty flower, with leaves and all,
Was once a little seed.
“When it was planted in the ground,
The sun shone very bright,
And made the little seed so warm,
It grew with all its might.
”“Yes, Charles: the bright sun made it warm,
’Twas wet with rain and dew;
The leaves came first, and then, ere long,
We found the violet blue.
“Charley, I think when we are good,
Obedient, and kind,
Good feelings, like the little flowers,
Are growing in the mind.
“But when we suffer evil thoughts
To grow and flourish there,
Then they are like the noxious weeds,
That choke the flowerets fair.