The Sun-Shower.

A penciled shade the sky doth sweep,
And transient glooms creep in to sleep
    Amid the orchard;
Fantastic breezes pull the trees
Hither and yon, to vagaries
    Of aspect tortured.

Then, like the downcast dreamy fringe
Of eyelids, when dim gates unhinge
    That locked their tears,
Falls on the hills a mist of rain, -
So faint, it seems to fade again;
    Yet swiftly nears.

Now sparkles the air, all steely-bright,
With drops swept down in arrow-flight,
    Keen, quivering lines.
Ceased in a breath the showery sound;
And teasingly, now, as I look around,
    Sweet sunlight shines!

George Parsons Lathrop

George Parsons Lathrop (August 25, 1851 – April 19, 1898) was an American poet, novelist, and editor. He was closely associated with the literary world of New England and was a prominent figure in the late 19th century. Lathrop was also known for his marriage to Rose Hawthorne, the daughter of famed novelist Nathaniel Hawthorne, and for his efforts in editing and preserving Hawthorne's works. His contributions spanned various literary forms including poetry and prose.

George Parsons Lathrop

Love's Defeat. (Moods Of Love.)

George Parsons Lathrop, Simple Poetry

June Longings.

George Parsons Lathrop, Simple Poetry

O Wholesome Death

George Parsons Lathrop, Simple Poetry

Christening

George Parsons Lathrop, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

A Rune Of The Rain.

I.

O many-toned rain!
O myriad sweet voices of the rain!
How welcome is its delicate overture
At evening, when the glowing-moistur'd west
Seals all things with cool promise of night's rest!

At first it would allure
The earth to kinder mood,
With dainty flattering
Of soft, sweet pattering:
Faintly now you hear the tramp
Of the fine drops falling damp
On the dry, sun-seasoned ground
And the thirsty leaves around.
But anon, imbued
With a sudden, bounding access
Of passion, it relaxes
All timider persuasion,
And, with nor pretext nor occasion,
Its wooing redoubles;
And pounds the ground, and bubbles
In sputtering spray,
Flinging itself in a fury
Of flashing white away;
Till the dusty road
Flings a perfume da...

George Parsons Lathrop

A Rune Of The Rain

O many-toned rain!
O myriad sweet voices of the rain!
How welcome is its delicate overture
At evening, when the moist and glowing west
Seals all things with cool promise of night's rest.

At first it would allure
The earth to kinder mood,
With dainty flattering
Of soft, sweet pattering:
Faintly now you hear the tramp
Of the fine drops, falling damp
On the dry, sun-seasoned ground
And the thirsty leaves, resound.
But anon, imbued
With a sudden, bounding access
Of passion, it relaxes
All timider persuasion.
And, with nor pretext nor occasion,
Its wooing redoubles;
And pounds the ground, and bubbles
In sputtering spray,
Flinging itself in a fury
Of flashing white away;
Till the dusty road,
Dank-perfumed, is o'erflowed;...

George Parsons Lathrop

The Summer Shower.

The eve is still and silent and above the tinted plain
The passing clouds are driving gentle showers of summer rain,
And the scent of hay-strewn meadows and the fresh-besprinkled ground
Is mingling with the perfume of the flowers that bloom around.

Off I wander and I stroke the gleeful spaniel at my side,
And, delighted with each other, do we ramble far and wide,
While a ditty is the tribute to the joy that gives it birth,
And the leaves, refreshed, are pouring their cool nectar to the earth.

Oh let me gaze again upon the moisture-laden sky,
Let me see the rolling masses, let me hear the plover's cry,
While enveloping the distant mountain-summits like a shroud,
Like a head bent down and hoary, hangs a heavy wreath of cloud.

Let me gaze upon the sunshine as it br...

Lennox Amott

An April Aria.

When the mornings dankly fall
    With a dim forethought of rain,
And the robins richly call
To their mates mercurial,
    And the tree-boughs creak and strain
    In the wind;
When the river's rough with foam,
    And the new-made clearings smoke,
And the clouds that go and come
Shine and darken frolicsome,
    And the frogs at evening croak
    Undefined
Mysteries of monotone,
    And by melting beds of snow
Wind-flowers blossom all alone;
    Then I know
That the bitter winter's dead.
    Over his head
The damp sod breaks so mellow, -
Its mosses tipped with points of yellow, -
    I cannot but be glad;
Yet this sweet mood will borrow
Something of a sweeter sorrow,
    To touch and turn me sad.

George Parsons Lathrop

Songs Of The Summer Days

    I.

    A glory on the chamber wall!
    A glory in the brain!
    Triumphant floods of glory fall
    On heath, and wold, and plain.

    Earth lieth still in hopeless bliss;
    She has, and seeks no more;
    Forgets that days come after this,
    Forgets the days before.

    Each ripple waves a flickering fire
    Of gladness, as it runs;
    They laugh and flash, and leap and spire,
    And toss ten thousand suns.

    But hark! low, in the world within,
    One sad aeolian tone:
    "Ah! shall we ever, ever win
    A summer of our own?"


    II.

    A morn of winds and swaying trees--
    Earth's jubilance rushing out!
    The birds are fighting with the breeze;
    The waters heave about...

George MacDonald

A Summer Evening.

I.

The sun has sunk in the crimson west,
    And "around the languid eyes of day"
The Twilight's dreamy shadows rest
    And light and shade alternate play;
The winds are hushed, nor leaf nor flower
Is swayed with motion by their power.


II.

The fireflies with meteor lamps
    Arise from out the dewy lawn,
And there the elfin cricket chants
    His vespers when the day is gone,
And far above, the sky's coquette
With all her starry train is met.

George W. Doneghy