 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
II.
“I am the Wind that comes before the rain,—Which, even now, bears onward from the west,
The rain that is as sweet to you as rest.
When all the air about the day lies dead,
And the incessant sunlight grows a pain,
Then by the cool rain are you comforted.
278
This summer garden altered utterly,—
You know not of the days of snow and ice,
Nor know the look of wild and wintry skies.”
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |