Graham R. Thomson (Rosamund Marriott Watson) (1860–1911)

RAIN in the glimmering street—

Murmurous, rhythmical beat;

Shadows that flicker and fly;

Blue of wet road, of wet sky,

(Grey in the depths and the heights);

Orange of numberless lights,

Shapes fleeting on, going by.

Figures, fantastical, grim—

Figures, prosaical, tame,

Each with chameleon-stain,

Dun in the crepuscle dim,

Red in the nimbus of flame—

Glance through the veil of the rain.

Rain in the measureless street—

Vistas of orange and blue;

Music of echoing feet,

Pausing, and pacing anew.

Rain, and the clamour of wheels,

Splendour, and shadow, and sound;

Coloured confusion that reels

Lost in the twilight around.

*****

When I lie hid from the light,

Stark, with the turf overhead,

Still, on a rainy Spring night,

I shall come back from the dead.

Turn then and look for me here

Stealing the shadows along;

Look for me—I shall be near,

Deep in the heart of the throng:

Here, where the current runs rife,

Careless, and doleful, and gay,

Moving, and motley, and strong,

Good in its sport, in its strife.

*****

Ah, might I be—might I stay—

Only for ever and aye,

Living and looking on life!