Song of the Rain by Hugh McCrae

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Night,

And the yellow pleasure of candle-light.

Old brown books and the kind fine face of the clock

Fogged in the veils of the fire – its cuddling tock.

 

The cat,

Greening her eyes on the flame-litten mat;

Wickedly wakeful she yawns at the rain

Bending the roses over the pane,

And a bird in my heart begins to sing

Over and over the same sweet thing—

Safe in the house with my boyhood’s love

And our children asleep in the attic above.

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