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Poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese


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OH, gray and tender is the rain,
That drips, drips on the pane!
A hundred things come in the door,
The scent of herbs, the thought of yore.

I see the pool out in the grass,
A bit of broken glass;
The red flags running wet and straight,
Down to the little flapping gate.

Lombardy poplars tall and three,
Across the road I see;
There is no loveliness so plain
As a tall poplar in the rain.

But oh, the hundred things and more,
That come in at the door! --
The smack of mint, old joy, old pain,
Caught in the gray and tender rain.



                      Lizette Woodworth Reese


Lizette Woodworth Reese's other poems:
  1. Herbs
  2. Writ in a Book of Welsh Verse
  3. Lydia is gone this many a year
  4. The Deserted House
  5. Spicewood


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