This is the third poem by Amy Lowell I post here. Needless to say, I’m a fan. Of hers and of Imagism. I was looking for a poem that fit the mood of this summer, which can be summarised in one word: rain. But this poem makes the rain a little less dreary. It adds a romantic touch, a red-gold and crocus-coloured warmth. Now, I don’t know about you, but that’s the kind of rain I can live with. A little tip: if you like this poem, scroll back a bit and read Spring Rain by Sara Teasdale.
All night our room was outer-walled with rain.
Drops fell and flattened on the tin roof,
And rang like little disks of metal.
Ping!—Ping!—and there was not a pin-point of silence between
The rain rattled and clashed,
And the slats of the shutters danced and glittered.
But to me the darkness was red-gold and crocus-colored
With your brightness,
And the words you whispered to me
Sprang up and flamed—orange torches against the rain.
Torches against the wall of cool, silver rain!