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12 Poems About Rain

Feel the rain as you read these poems about rain. The Poets describe rain in their words, not just the feeling of the rain, but also how rain affects our lives and our surroundings. You will also find poems that reflect upon how our lives sometimes feel like rain with the challenges we face or how sometimes we feel like dancing in the rain. Be inspired by these poems.

Short Poems   /   Nature Poems    /   Poems About Rain - related Rain Quotes


  1. Is It Raining, Little Flower?
    Poet: Mary Frances Butts


    Is it raining, little flower
    Be glad of rain.
    Too much sun would wither thee.
    'Twill shine again.
    The sky is very black, 'tis true.
    But just behind it shines the blue.

    Art thou weary, tender heart?
    Be glad of pain;
    In sorrow sweetest things will grow.
    As flowers in rain.
    God watches, and thou wilt have sun
    When clouds their perfect work
    Have done.



  2. Summer Rain
    Poet: Mary F. Butts


    Pell! mell! comes the rushing rain,
    The sad little brook laughs loud again.
    The thirsty leaves on the great elm-tree
    Drink up their portion thankfully.

    There's a stir of joy in the garden-place;
    Almost a smile on the pansy's face;
    And I seem to hear a red rose say,
    How glad I am that it rains to-day!

    Down in a hollow in the path
    Little Brown Sparrow is taking a bath,
    And the pool in the yard is in perfect trim
    For the baby ducks to have a swim.

    Down fall the bright drops, tink-a-link!
    A robin hastens to get a drink.
    Through the flooded street, with a shout of joy,
    And a splash and a dash, goes a barefooted boy.

    Soft, soft, comes the gentle rain;
    The faded earth is bright again;
    And hark! the joyous children cry,
    A rainbow! A rainbow in the sky!



  3. Rain
    Poet: Ardeen Foster


    It fills the farmer's meadow-drain,
    It wets the farmer's rye,
    It wets the farmer's nodding grain,
    This deluge from the sky.
    It mends the barley of its blight,
    The pea, the bean, the rose,
    It bathes the com and puts to flight
    The black-footed crows.

    It feeds the thirsty clover-ground.
    The river to the brink,
    Aye, everywhere is water found,
    But not a drop to drink.
    Go, rain fill up the bull-frog hole,
    And drench the bush and vine.
    But when you mix the toddy-bowl,
    Less water put in mine.



  4. The Rain Upon The Roof
    Poet: Mrs. F. B. Gage


    Long ago a poet dreaming,
    Weaving fancy's warp and woof,
    Penned a tender, soothing poem
    On the " Rain upon the Roof."

    Once I read it, and its beauty
    Filled my heart with memories sweet;
    Days of childhood fluttered round me,
    Violets sprang beneath my feet.
    And my gentle, loving mother
    Spoke again in accents mild,
    Curbing every wayward passion
    Of her happy, thoughtless child.
    Then I heard the swallows twittering
    Underneath the cabin eaves,
    And the laughing shout of Willie
    Up among the maple leaves.
    Then I blessed the poet's dreaming
    Blessed his fancy's warp and woof,
    And I wept o'er memories treasured,
    As the rain fell on the roof.

    Years ago I lost the poem,
    But its sweetness lingered still,
    As the freshness of the valley
    Marks where flowed the springtime rill.
    Lost to reach, but not to feeling;
    For the rain-drop never falls
    O'er my head with pattering music,
    But it peoples memory's halls
    With the old familiar faces
    Loved and treasured long ago,
    Treasured now as in life's springtime,
    For no change my heart can know.
    And I live again my childhood
    In the home far, far away;
    Roam the woodland, orchard, wildwood,
    With my playmates still at play;
    Then my gray hairs press the pillow,
    Holding all the world aloof,
    Dreaming sweetly as I listen
    To the rain upon the roof.

    Every pattering drop that falleth
    Seemeth like an angel's tread,
    Bringing messages of mercy
    To the weary heart and head.
    Pleasant thoughts of years departed,
    Pleasant soothings for to-day,
    Earnest longings for to-morrow,
    Hoping for the far away;
    For I know each drop that falleth
    Comes to bless the thirsty earth,
    Making seed to bud and blossom,
    Springing all things into birth.
    As the radiant bow that scattereth
    All our faithlessness with proof
    Of a seedtime and a harvest,
    So the rain upon the roof.



  5. Rain On The Roof
    Poet: Coates Kinney


    When the humid shadows hover
    Over all the starry spheres,
    And the melancholy darkness
    Gently weeps in rainy tears,
    What a joy to press the pillow
    Of a cottage-chamber bed,
    And to listen 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 a thousand recollections
    Weave their 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 survey her darling dreamers
    Ere she left them till the dawn:
    Oh! I see her leaning o'er me,
    As I list to this refrain
    Which is played upon the shingles
    By the patter of the rain.

    Then my little seraph sister,
    With her wings and waving hair,
    And her bright-eyed cherub brother
    A serene, angelic pair!
    Glide around my wakeful pillow,
    With their praise or mild reproof,
    As I listen to the murmur
    Of the soft rain on the roof.

    And another comes to thrill me
    With her eyes' delicious blue;
    And forget I, gazing on her,
    That her heart was all untrue:
    I remember that I loved her
    As I ne'er may love again,
    And my heart's quick pulses vibrate
    To the patter of the rain.

    There is nought in art's bravuras
    That can work with such a spell
    In the spirit's pure deep fountains,
    Whence the holy passions swell,
    As that melody of Nature,
    That subdued, subduing strain,
    Which is played upon the shingles
    By the patter of the rain.



  6. Rain
    Poet: Unknown


    MIillions of massive rain-drops
    Have fallen all around;
    They have danced on the house-tops,
    They have hidden in the ground.

    They were liquid like musicians
    With anything for keys,
    Beating tunes upon the windows,
    Keeping time upon the trees.



  7. Forever
    Poet: Unknown


    Forever and ever the reddening leaves
    Float to the sodden grasses,
    Forever and ever the shivering trees
    Cower and shriek to the chilling breeze
    That sweeps from the far-off sudden seas,
    To wither them as it passes.

    Forever and ever the low gray sky
    Stoops o'er the sorrowful earth;
    Forever and ever the steady rain
    Falls on bare bleak hill and barren plain,
    And flashes on roof and window-pane,
    And hisses upon the hearth.

    Forever and ever the weary thoughts
    Are tracing the selfsame track
    Forever and ever, to and fro,
    On the old unchanging road they go,
    Through dreaming and waking, through joy and woe,
    Calling the dead hours back.

    Forever and ever the tired heart
    Bonders o'er the evil done;
    Forever and ever through cloud and gleam,
    Tracing the course of the strong life-stream,
    And dreary and dull as the broken dream,
    Forever the rain rains on.



  8. Rain In The Heart
    Poet: Unknown


    " Into each life some rain must fall."

    If this were all - oh! if this were all,
    That into each life some rain must fall,
    There were fewer sobs in the poet's rhyme,
    There were fewer wrecks on the shores of time.

    But tempests of woe dash over the soul
    Since winds of anguish we cannot control;
    And shock after shock are we called to bear,
    Till the lips are white with the heart's despair.

    The shores of time with wrecks are strewn,
    Unto the ear comes ever a moan
    Wrecks of hope that set sail with glee,
    Wrecks of love sinking silently.

    Many are hid from the human eye;
    Only God knoweth how deep they lie;
    Only God heard when arose the prayer,
    "Help me to bear - oh! help me to bear."

    "Into each life some rain must fall."
    If this were all - oh! if this were all;
    Yet there's a refuge from storm and blast
    Gloria Patri - we'll reach at last.

    Be strong, be strong, to my heart I cry,
    The pearl in the wounded shell doth lie;
    Days of sunshine are given to all,
    Though "into each life some rain must fall."



  9. Some Sweet Day
    Poet: Lewis J. Bates


    Into all lives some rain must fall,
    Into all eyes some tear-drops start,
    Whether they fall as gentle shower,
    Or fall like fire from an aching heart.
    Into all hearts some sorrow must creep,
    Into all souls some doubtings come,
    Lashing the waves of life's great deep
    From dimpling waters to seething foam.

    Over all paths some clouds must lower,
    Under all feet some sharp thorns spring,
    Tearing the flesh to bitter wounds,
    Or entering the heart with their bitter sting.
    Upon all brows rough winds must blow,
    Over all shoulders a cross be lain,
    Bowing the form in its lofty height
    Down to the dust in bitter pain.

    Into all hands some duty's thrust;
    Unto all arms some burden's given,
    Crushing the heart with its weary weight,
    Or lifting the soul from earth to heaven.
    Into all hearts and homes and lives
    God's dear sunlight comes streaming down,
    Gilding the ruins of life's great plain
    Weaving for all a golden crown.



  10. A Rainy Day
    Poet: Unknown


    How tired one grows of a rainy day,
    For a rainy day brings back so much;
    Old dreams revive that are buried away,
    And the past comes back to the sight and touch.

    When the night is short and the day is long,
    And the rain falls down with ceaseless beat,
    We tire of our thoughts as we tire of a song
    That over and over is played in the street.

    When I woke this morning and heard the splash
    Of the rain-drop over the tall elm's leaves,
    I was carried back in a lightning flash
    To the dear old home with the sloping eaves.

    And you and I, in the garret high,
    Were playing again at hide-go-seek;
    And bright was the light of your laughing eye,
    And rich the glow of your rounded cheek.

    And again I was nestled in my white bed
    Under the eaves, and hearing above
    The feet of the rain-steeds over my head,
    While I dreamed sweet dreams of you, my love.

    Love, my lover, with eyes of truth,
    O beautiful love of the vanished years,
    There is no other love like the love of youth,
    I say it over and over with tears.

    Wealth and honor and fame may come,
    They cannot replace what is taken away;
    There is no other home like the childhood's home,
    No other love like the love of May.

    Though the sun is bright in the mid-day skies,
    There cometh an hour when the sad heart grieves
    With a lonely wail, like a lost child's cry,
    For the trundle-bed and the sloping eaves;

    When, with vague unrest and nameless pain,
    We hunger and thirst for a voice and touch
    That we never on earth shall know again
    Oh, a rainy day brings back so much!



  11. The April Rain
    Poet: Cobb


    Gentle little rain-drops,
    Falling from the sky;
    Tiny silver rain drops,
    While the clouds float by,

    Little bells of silver,
    Tinkling on the pane.
    Sweetly sing the blessings
    Of the April rain.

    Precious little rain-drops.
    Kiss old mother earth;
    Fill her cold, dark bosom
    Brimming full of mirth.

    Welcome, little rain-drops,
    Joy and gladness bring.
    Thank you, April rain-drops,
    For the song you sing.



  12. After Rain
    Poet: Lucy P. Scott


    Last night it rained, Oh! how it rained,
    Pouring the whole night long.
    The streams ran all along the roof,
    Singing a gurgling song.

    The leaves on all the dripping trees,
    Shivered and shook themselves,
    And the drops jumped off and fell below,
    Like tiny playful elves.

    The roses in the garden beds
    The other flowers too.
    Just dropped their clothes and took a bath
    Of rain instead of dew.

    The stream below the meadow green.
    Called to the little brook,
    "Come! Bring your friends down to the sea.
    We'll go and have a look!"

    This morning it is shining bright.
    As though it never rained.
    Only the sparkle on the grass
    Has special beauty gained.

    The garden looks untidy, like
    A child that's played too hard.
    With all its toys strewn here and there.
    And nobody to guard.

    But Oh! the earth is nice and clean.
    And happy once again.
    It's tears the sun will wipe away.
    Nor leave a single stain.


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