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RAIN

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THE rain was grey before it fell,

And through a world where light had died

There ran a mournful little wind

That shook the trees and cried.


The rain was brown upon the earth,

In turbid stream and tiny seas —

In swift and slender shafts that beat

The flowers to their knees.


The rain is mirror to the sky,

To leaning grass in image clear,

And drifting in the shining pools

The clouds are white and near.


Poems

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