Rain - Sterling A. Brown

Outside the cold, cold night; the dripping rain...
The water gurgles loosely in the eaves,
The savage lashes stripe the rattling pane
And beat a tattoo on November leaves.
The lamp wick gutters, and the last log steams
Upon the ash-filled hearth. Chill grows the room.
The ancient clock ticks creakily and seems
A fitting portent of the gathering gloom.

This is a night we planned. This place is where
One day, we would be happy; where the light
Should tint your shoulders and your wild flung hair. -
Whence we would - oh, we planned a merry morrow -
Recklessly part ways with the old hag, Sorrow...

Outside the dripping rain; the cold, cold night.



[From:
Sterling, B. A. (1996) The Collected Poems of Sterling A. Brown. Evanston, III: TriQuarterly Books, p]

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