From out the west, where darkling storm-clouds float, <br />The 'waking wind pipes soft its rising note. <br /> <br />From out the west, o'erhung with fringes grey, <br />The wind preludes with sighs its roundelay, <br /> <br />Then blowing, singing, piping, laughing loud, <br />It scurries on before the grey storm-cloud; <br /> <br />Across the hollow and along the hill <br />It whips and whirls among the maples, till <br /> <br />With boughs upbent, and green of leaves blown wide, <br />The silver shines upon their underside. <br /> <br />A gusty freshening of humid air, <br />With showers laden, and with fragrance rare; <br /> <br />And now a little sprinkle, with a dash <br />Of great cool drops that fall with sudden splash; <br /> <br />Then over field and hollow, grass and grain, <br />The loud, crisp whiteness of the nearing rain.<br /><br />Emily Pauline Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rainfall/
