Author Harry Kemp The rain rushed, grey and solid, At window, wall, and door,—It crashed across the housetops Like waves that lift and roar.It danced to drums of thunder, It leaped along the plain,It raced upon the hilltops— God's Great Bacchante, Rain! Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments