The dawn of the day was dreary, <br />And the lowering clouds o'erhead <br />Wept in a silent sorrow <br />Where the sweet sunshine lay dead; <br />And a wind came out of the eastward <br />Like an endless sigh of pain, <br />And the leaves fell down in the pathway <br />And writhed in the falling rain. <br /> <br />I had tried in a brave endeavor <br />To chord my harp with the sun, <br />But the strings would slacken ever, <br />And the task was a weary one: <br />And so, like a child impatient <br />And sick of a discontent, <br />I bowed in a shower of tear-drops <br />And mourned with the instrument. <br /> <br />And lo! as I bowed, the splendor <br />Of the sun bent over me, <br />With a touch as warm and tender <br />As a father's hand might be: <br />And, even as I felt its presence, <br />My clouded soul grew bright, <br />And the tears, like the rain of morning, <br />Melted in mists of light.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-rainy-morning/
