Song of the Rain
Night,
And the yellow pleasure of candlelight . . .
Old brown books and the kind fine face of the clock
Fogged in the veils of the fire; its cuddling tock.
The cat
Greening her eyes on the flame-litten mat;
Wickedly wakeful, she yawns at the rain
Bending the roses over the pane.
And a bird in my heart begins to sing
Over and over the same sweet thing.
" Safe in the house with my boyhood's love,
And our children asleep in the attic above."
And the yellow pleasure of candlelight . . .
Old brown books and the kind fine face of the clock
Fogged in the veils of the fire; its cuddling tock.
The cat
Greening her eyes on the flame-litten mat;
Wickedly wakeful, she yawns at the rain
Bending the roses over the pane.
And a bird in my heart begins to sing
Over and over the same sweet thing.
" Safe in the house with my boyhood's love,
And our children asleep in the attic above."
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