123 In the Rain

I STAND in the cold gray weather,

In the white and silvery rain;

The great trees huddle together,

And sway with the windy strain.

I dream of the purple glory

Of the roseate mountain-height

And the sweet-to-remember story

Of a distant and clear delight.

The rain keeps constantly raining,

And the sky is cold and gray,

And the wind in the trees keeps complaining

That summer has passed away;—

But the gray and the cold are haunted

By a beauty akin to pain,—

By a sense of a something wanted,

That never will come again.