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Poem	Oh, what is so pure as the glad summer rain, That falls on the grass where the sunlight has lain? And what is so fair as the flowers that lie All bathed in the tears of the soft summer sky? The blue of the heavens is dimmed by the rain That wears away sorrow and washes out pain; But we know that the flowers we cherish would die Were it not for the tears of the cloud-laden sky. The rose is the sweeter when kissed by the rain, And hearts are the dearer where sorrow has lain; The sky is the fairer that rain-clouds have swept, And no eyes are so bright as the eyes that have wept. Oh, they are so happy, these flowers that die, They laugh in the sunshine, oh, why cannot I? They droop in the shadow, they smile in the sun, Yet they die in the winter when summer is done. The lily is lovely, and fragrant her breath, But the beauty she wears is the emblem of death; The rain is so fair as it falls on the flowers, But the clouds are the shadows of sunnier hours. Why laugh in the sunshine, why smile in the rain? The world is a shadow and life is a pain; Why live in the summer, why dream in the sun, To die in the winter, when summer is done? Oh, there is the truth that each life underlies, That baffles the poets and sages so wise; Ah! there is the bitter that lies in the sweet As we gather the roses that bloom at our feet. Oh, flowers forgive me, I'm willful to-day, Oh, take back the lesson you gave me I pray; For I slept in the sunshine, I woke in the rain And it banished forever my sorrow and pain.
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