the voice of the rain

The Voice of the Rain

By Walt Whitman

And who art thou? said I to the soft-falling shower,
Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated:
I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain,
Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea,
Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely form’d, altogether changed, and
yet the same,
I descend to lave the drouths, atomies, dust-layers of the globe,
And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn;
And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own origin,
and make pure and beautify it;
(For song, issuing from its birth-place, after fulfilment, wandering,
Reck’d or unreck’d, duly with love returns.)

 

This month I have severely missed the rain. We are under extreme drought conditions, and it’s not only the ground that feels it. I dream about rain. I think about its smell and taste and feel. I think, when it comes, I will do something crazy, like dance around with bare feet and head and laugh wildly. I don’t know about you, but every now and then, I wish the sun would just go away, and let the rains fall down.

ottermei

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