The Rainbow

I saw the lovely arch
Of Rainbow span the sky,
The gold sun burning
As the rain swept by.

In bright-ringed solitude
The showery foliage shone
One lovely moment,
And the Bow was gone.

Walter De La Mare

Walter De La Mare was an English poet, short story writer, and novelist, best remembered for his works for children and his poem "The Listeners". Born in 1873 in Charlton, Kent, De La Mare's unique blend of haunting, dreamlike imagery and masterful command of language earned him a lasting place in English literature. He was awarded the Order of Merit in 1953, and his works continue to be celebrated for their ethereal and evocative quality.

Walter De La Mare

The Mocking Fairy

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

The Unfinished Dream

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Dame Hickory

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

Never More, Sailor

Walter De La Mare, Simple Poetry

English

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April

Come, then, with showers; I love thy cloudy face
Gilded with splendour of the sunbeam thro'
The heedless glory of thy locks. I know
The arch, sweet languor of thy fleeting grace,
The windy lovebeams of thy dwelling-place,
Thy dim dells where in azure bluebells blow,
The brimming rivers where thy lightnings go
Harmless and full and swift from race to race.

Thou takest all young hearts captive with thine eyes;
At rumour of thee the tongues of children ring
Louder than bees; the golden poplars rise
Like trumps of peace; and birds, on homeward wing,
Fly mocking echoes shrill along the skies,
Above the waves' grave diapasoning.

Walter De La Mare

The Rainbow.

Look how the rainbow doth appear
But in one only hemisphere;
So likewise after our decease
No more is seen the arch of peace.
That cov'nant's here, the under-bow,
That nothing shoots but war and woe.

Robert Herrick

The Rainbow.

"What is the rainbow, mother dear,
    With many-colored light?
Have the clouds parted just to show
    The floor of heaven so bright?

"Or is it wings of angels pure
    That touch along the sky?
And do they come that we may see
    How fair is all on high?

"Or, mother, on that shining arch
    Do spirits rise above?
And on that bended bow ascend
    Where all is light and love?

"How beautiful must be that road!
    Why should we call those back,
Who travel to the better land
    On such a sunny track?

"Why did you weep when brother died?
    Did you not know that he
On that delightful path must tread,
    Ere he in heaven could be?"

"My dearest child, we cannot know,
    Or trace the spirit's flight,

H. P. Nichols

The Rainbow

    "These things are real," said one, and bade me gaze
        On black and mighty shapes of iron and stone,
    On murder, on madness, on lust, on towns ablaze,
        And on a thing made all of rattling bone:
    "What," said he, "will you bring to match with these?"
        "Yea! War is real," I said, "and real is Death,
    A little while - mortal realities;
        But Love and Hope draw an immortal breath."

    Think you the storm that wrecks a summer day,
        With funeral blackness and with leaping fire
    And boiling roar of rain, more real than they
        That, when the warring heavens begin to tire,
    With tender fingers on the tumult paint;
        Spanning the huddled wrack from base to cope
    With soft effulgence, like some haloed saint, ...

Richard Le Gallienne

The Rainbow

My heart leaps up when I behold
A Rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the man;
And I wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

William Wordsworth

The Rainbow Bridge.

Love and Hope and Youth, together
Travelling once in stormy weather,
Met a deep and gloomy tide,
Flowing swift and dark and wide.
'Twas named the river of Despair,
And many a wreck was floating there!
The urchins paused, with faces grave,
Debating how to cross the wave,
When lo! the curtain of the storm
Was severed, and the rainbow's form
Stood against the parting cloud
Emblem of peace on trouble's shroud!
Hope pointed to the signal flying,
And the three, their shoulders plying,
O'er the stream the light arch threw
A rainbow bridge of loveliest hue!
Now, laughing as they tripped it o'er,
They gayly sought the other shore:
But soon the hills began to frown,
And the bright sun went darkly down.
Though their step was light and fleet,
The ...

Samuel Griswold Goodrich