A rainy day poem makes you feel excited about the rain. These poems help you connect with nature. The sound of rain taps on your window, and it’s like the sky is playing a soft and beautiful game.
Rainy day poetry describes how rain makes you feel or what you like to do when it’s raining. Rain is nature’s way of giving the plants a big drink of water and making all the flowers happy.
After the rain, everything may look extra bright and beautiful. So it’s the perfect time to take a warm blanket and a hot cup of tea or coffee.
Read some awesome poetry about rainy days and play some fun games.
The Rainy Day
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
April Rain Song
Let the rain kiss you
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
Let the rain sing you a lullaby
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The rain makes running pools in the gutter
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night
And I love the rain.
The Touch Of Rain
Like the touch of rain she was
On a man’s flesh and hair and eyes
When the joy of walking thus
Has taken him by surprise:
With the love of the storm he burns,
He sings, he laughs, well I know how,
But forgets when he returns
As I shall not forget her ‘Go now’.
Those two words shut a door
Between me and the blessed rain
That was never shut before
And will not open again.
Fallen Trees
Who will dance with the wind now that you’re really gone?
Who will catch the sun’s rays on the hot summer morn?
Who will slow down the gust when it’s out of control?
Who will dilute the air that’s toxic to my soul?
Who will speak to the clouds about sending the rain?
Who will shelter me from the storm and soothe my pain?
Who will stand in the rain when others hide away?
Who will provide a place for little birds to play?
Who will catch my rain drops before they touch the ground?
Who will keep luxuriant grass from turning brown?
Who will present me a fruit for my morning dish?
Who will nourish my eyes and satisfy my wish?
Who will fix this huge hole in the soil of my heart?
Who will give me comfort now that we are apart?
Rain
Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
For washing me cleaner than I have been
Since I was born into this solitude.
Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
Is dying to-night or lying still awake
Solitary, listening to the rain,
Either in pain or thus in sympathy
Helpless among the living and the dead,
Like a cold water among broken reeds,
Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,
Like me who have no love which this wild rain
Has not dissolved except the love of death,
If love it be towards what is perfect and
Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.
This was all about the rainy day poem.