Nevada County Picayune

THE PATTER OF THE RAIN.
COATES KINNEY.
When the humid shadows hover
Over all the starry spheres
And the melancholy darkness
Gently weeps in raining tears,
What a joy to press the pillow
Of a cottage chamber bed
And to listen to the patter
Of the soft rain overhead.
Every patter on the shingles
Has an echo in the heart.
And a thousand recollections
Into busy being start.
And a thousand busy fancies
Weave their bright hues into woof.
As we listen to the patter
Of the rain upon the roof.
Now in memory comes my mother
As she used long years agone,
To regard the darling dreamers,
Ere she left them to the dawn.
Oh, I see her leaning o'er me,
As I list to the refrain
Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain.
Then my little seraph sister,
With her wings and waving hair
And my star-eyed cherub brother—
A serene, angelic pair—
Glide around my wakeful pillow
With their praise or mild reproof,
As I listen to the murmur
Of the soft rain on the roof.
And another comes to thrill me
With her eyes delicious blue:
And I mind not, musing on her,
That her heart was all untrue:
I remember but to love her
With a passion kin to pain,
And my heart's quick pulses vibrate
To the patter of the rain.
Art hath naught, or tone of cadence,
That can work with such a spell
In the soul's mysterious fountains,
Whence the tears of rapture dwell.
As that melody of nature,
That subdued, subduing strain
Which is played upon the shingles
By the patter of the rain.
Springfield, Ohio