Rain

The rain,
Green hooped in the Gram,
Fallen into soft holes, Spots glittering up,
The trees shake, Green eyes that blink, Rubber skins that drink.

And I am blended in, My roots are here,
Among the rushes. The hot wind weaves, Leaf falls, Soft patches formed over, A light on the shore
That brings back night’s moist tire.

So sweet is the earth, In a silent whispering Which warms to a circle of forests, And the shade turns dusk, Till silence ebbs more Into the leave of the sun.

• T E Hulme