Soft rain beats upon my windows
Hardly harming.
But by the great gusts guessed further off
Up by the bare moor and brambly headland
Heaven and earth make war.
That savage toss of the pine boughs past music
And the roar of the elms . . .
Here come, in the candle light, soft reminder
Of poetry’s truth, while rain beats softly here
As sleep, or shelter of farms.