Beloved, Let Us Once More Praise The Rain

Beloved, let us once more praise the rain.     Let us discover some new alphabet,     For this, the often praised; and be ourselves,     The rain, the chickweed, and the burdock leaf,     The green-white privet flower, the spotted stone,     And all that welcomes the rain; the sparrow too,     Who watches with a hard eye from seclusion,     Beneath the elm-tree bough, till rain is done.     There is an oriole who, upside down,     Hangs at his nest, and flicks an orange wing,     Under a tree as dead and still as lead;     There is a single leaf, in all this heaven     Of leaves, which rain has loosened from its twig:     The stem breaks, and it falls, but it is caught     Upon a sister leaf, and thus she hangs;     There is an acorn cup, beside a mushroom     Which catches three drops from the stooping cloud.     The timid bee goes back to the hive; the fly     Under the broad leaf of the hollyhock     Perpends stupid with cold; the raindark snail     Surveys the wet world from a watery stone...     And still the syllables of water whisper:     The wheel of cloud whirs slowly: while we wait     In the dark room; and in your heart I find     One silver raindrop, on a hawthorn leaf,     Orion in a cobweb, and the World.