Rain

Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
For washing me cleaner than I have been
Since I was born into this solitude.
Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
Is dying to-night or lying still awake
Solitary, listening to the rain,
Either in pain or thus in sympathy
Helpless among the living and the dead,
Like a cold water among broken reeds,
Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,
Like me who have no love which this wild rain
Has not dissolved except the love of death,
If love it be towards what is perfect and
Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.

by Edward Thomas

Other poems of THOMAS (94)

Comments (10)

I have read and re-read this poem. It is phenomenal and breathtaking. Outstanding...it affected me deeply.
I've read this several times, and with each reading to grows, more and more significant in its humanistic weight, to be good man and still suffer the world, and in his death he wishes to be content with nature and with human advances, yet the greatness of humanity was truly his own existence. Fantastic Poem!
That is unfortunately what can happen to a meek and mild and gentle person in almost every society. But I have to wonder about how he wanted a poem read to him about nuclear reactors as he lay dying...
Believing positively even despite the strain of negativity towards him, he was as blithe and optimistic as usual........very touching indeed........thanks for sharing
Touching expression. Beautiful poem.
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