The following is a poem I wrote, about rain, obviously, but also a sort of reflection on certain human emotions that many souls experience. The structure and even some of the ideas, I must admit, were partly inspired by John Keats' masterpiece, Ode to a Nightingale. I find myself looking to Keats as a model for my own poetry... Anyhow, this one is about rain.
The drops that beat upon the window-pane
Arouse a thousand thoughts and memories,
Dreams of what these memories should have been,
Regrets, unquenched desires – how my heart bleeds!
And yet, as I do sit and hear the rain,
And dream of blisses never yet possessed,
The running drops do seem to soothe the pain
Which doth my heart arrest.
Ah, Rain! My soul would arid be, didst thou
Not pour thy tears forth from the darkened skies.
Ah, Rain! I’ll let thee do the weeping now,
For I have wept enough these days; mine eyes
Are all run dry. Now heaven doth endow
The earth with beauteous moisture, bathe the soil,
Wet every grassy blade and leafy bough –
And calm me, ‘midst my toil.
O sweet and mournful music! Do not cease!
Thou kindred of my soul, play on! play on!
The sweetness of thy droplet-tunes brings peace,
A sad contentment (strange!) to think upon
My past – the joy which took to quick decrease,
Like to a most unfaithful, lying friend –
And future – when I shall be quick released,
To meet my final end.
How sweet to breathe my last while thou dost fall,
And lie beneath the soil which thou dost wet!
And after such catharsis – so enthralled
By thee! – in death, at last, sad life forget.
Truly, it were the sweetest thing of all
To have thy harp-like tunes my requiem,
Did Mother Fortune grant it to befall
That I expire to them.
But soft! The music slows and doth decline;
The clouds disperse; the sun shines forth its rays –
In which but empty comfort do I find.
Now hath the year returned to drier days.
And now must all the tears once more be mine,
For rain now lacking, I must weep again.
Some souls will bask in the golden light that shines,
But I will yearn for rain.