| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
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| 162. Rain at Night |
| | | By Helen Hoyt |
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| ARE you awake? Do you hear the rain? | |
| How rushingly it strikes upon the ground, | |
| And on the roof, and the wet window-panel | |
| Sometimes I think it is a comfortable sound, | |
| Making us feel how safe and snug we are: | 5 |
| Closing us off in this dark, away from the dark outside. | |
| The rest of the world seems dim tonight, mysterious and far. | |
| Oh, there is no world left Only darkness, darkness stretching wide | |
| And full of the blind rain’s immeasurable fall! | |
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| How nothing must we seem unto this ancient thing! | 10 |
| How nothing unto the earth—and we so small! | |
| Oh, wake, wake!—do you not feel my hands cling? | |
| One day it will be raining as it rains tonight; the same wind blow— | |
| Raining and blowing on this house wherein we lie: but you and I— | |
| We shall not hear, we shall not ever know. | 15 |
| O love, I had forgot that we must die. | |
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