Ah, come, thou gentle rain!
And herald in the Spring,
With whispers soft as silken lace,
And every songbird’s wing.

Let blossoms bathe and old trees sigh,
As buds begin to swell;
Creating soft and leafy joy
That all the world can tell.

Soft sinks the day, and shadows grow,
Exploding pure delight;
From every nook and cranny low,
Nature’s wonders rise with might.

O rain! in joy we welcome thee,
That steals the starry green,
No beauty in this world could be,
Without your gentle sheen.

— Jones Very

• Jones Very