Poems (Storrie)/Slow Falling Rain at Night
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Slow Falling Rain at Night.
Who is it weeping? I could think I hear
The gathered grief of all the world expressed
In this slow rain, and every single tear
That ever fell from human eye invest
The night with pathos—Surely bitterest
The grief that inarticulate doth speak
This language of despair, too brave to wrest
A transient balm from utterance, yet too weak
To bear in silence—Mayhap when I lie bleak
Night winds have ceased to fret the mournful air
And stillness falls, then haply did we seek
Some spirit we might find, who, wandering there
Up-garners in her heart all human pain
And weeps for us in this slow falling rain.
The gathered grief of all the world expressed
In this slow rain, and every single tear
That ever fell from human eye invest
The night with pathos—Surely bitterest
The grief that inarticulate doth speak
This language of despair, too brave to wrest
A transient balm from utterance, yet too weak
To bear in silence—Mayhap when I lie bleak
Night winds have ceased to fret the mournful air
And stillness falls, then haply did we seek
Some spirit we might find, who, wandering there
Up-garners in her heart all human pain
And weeps for us in this slow falling rain.