when the humid shadows hover
over all the starry spheres
Gently weeps in rainy tears,
What a bliss to press the pillow
of a cottage chamber bed
And lie listening to the patter
of the soft rain overhead!
Every tinkle on the shingles
Has an echo in the heart;
And a thousand dreamy fancies
into busy being start,
And the thousand recollections
weave there air- threads into woof,
as I listen to the patter
Of the rain upon the roof.
Now in memory comes my mother ,
As she used in years agone,
To regard the darling dreamers
Ere she left them till the dawn:
O! I feel hear fond look on me
As I list to this refrain
Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain.
Coates Kinney