The Winter Rain

I wearied of the stormy hours, And shaped my song to murmuring words; I longed to hear the song of birds And watch the bloom of woodland flowers. O waiting heart, no more complain; The shadows fly, the morning breaks; And, with a touch of light, God makes A glory of the winter rain! Where icy splendors flash and gleam In forest depths, alone I stand: I seem to dwell in fairy-land, And, wondering, gaze as in a dream. Here is the ruby's sunset dye, The opal's blush, the diamond's flame; And jewels rare of every name, Thick as the stars in midnight sky. No kingly crown is half so fair As that which decks the pine-tree's crest; No gems e'er shone on Beauty's breast Like those the oak and maple wear. The common path — in childhood known — Transfigured now before me lies, — A way that leads to Paradise; An aisle with shattered rainbows strown!