Have you ever felt the soothing touch of rain and the emotions it stirs within you?
Rain has a unique way of evoking feelings, from joy and nostalgia to sadness and reflection.
Here are 10 riveting poems that capture the essence of rain, inviting you to immerse yourself in their emotional depth.
Let’s dive in!
My favorite poem on rain
#1 “Summer Shower” by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
A drop fell on the apple tree,
Another on the roof;
A half a dozen kissed the eaves,
And made the gables laugh.
A few went out to help the brook,
That went to help the sea.
Myself conjectured, Were they pearls,
What necklaces could be!
The dust replaced in hoisted roads,
The birds jocoser sung;
The sunshine threw his hat away,
The orchards spangles hung.
The breezes brought dejected lutes,
And bathed them in the glee;
The East put out a single flag,
And signed the fete away.
“Summer Shower” by Emily Dickinson is my top pick for a rain poem because it captures the magic of a summer downpour.
Dickinson’s vivid imagery makes you feel the joy and transformation that rain brings to our surroundings.
Reading this poem reminds us how a simple shower can turn everyday moments into something special.
It encourages us to pause, appreciate, and find beauty in the natural rhythms of life.
9 more poems on rain
#2 “Summer Rain” by Kate Seymour Maclean
O rain, Summer Rain! forever,
Out of the crystal spheres,
And cool from my brain the fever,
And wash from my eyes the tears
Stir gently the blossoming clover,
In the hollows dewy and deep,–
Somewhere they are blossoming over
The spot where I shall sleep.
Asleep from this wearisome aching,
With my arms crossed under my head,
I shall hear without awaking,
The rain that blesses the dead.
And the ocean of man’s existence,–
The surges of toil and care,
Shall break and die in the distance,
But never reach me there.
And yet–I fancy it often–
I should stir in my shrouded sleep,
And struggle to rise in my coffin,
If he came there to weep.
Among the dead–or the angels–
Though ever so faint and dim,
I should know that voice in a thousand,
And stretch my hands to him.
But the trouble of life and living,
And the burden of daily care,
And the endless sin, and forgiving,
Are greater than I can bear.
So rain, Summer Rain, and cover
The meadows dewy and deep,
And freshen the blossoming clover,
And sing me to dreamless sleep.
#3 “Rain Has Fallen All The Day” by James Joyce
Rain has fallen all the day.
O come among the laden trees:
The leaves lie thick upon the way
Of memories.
Staying a little by the way
Of memories shall we depart.
Come, my beloved, where I may
Speak to your heart.
#4 “Rain Film” by Paul Cameron Brown
On the night of the rains,
water was oozing out from
the sky’s swollen stitches,
a rash developed across
the meaning of the heavens.
The wooden floors of my attic place
strove for a deeper tone,
a hoarse calling
grew louder as I paced
trying to see rain.
I followed the gravity of the treasure hunt
where each bounce meant a slap
across a table top of tension,
where the window basted winter black rain
and silence paid another call.
I am as much as this water flower, rain.
I am as impressionable as the city that stops for rain.
And I lack the same substance that dooms water to be
a soft pillow feather; excepting this,
I may still shatter this thing, March routine existence
by dabbling in destruction.
#5 “The Rainy Morning” by James Whitcomb Riley
The dawn of the day was dreary,
And the lowering clouds o’erhead
Wept in a silent sorrow
Where the sweet sunshine lay dead;
And a wind came out of the eastward
Like an endless sigh of pain,
And the leaves fell down in the pathway
And writhed in the falling rain.
I had tried in a brave endeavor
To chord my harp with the sun,
But the strings would slacken ever,
And the task was a weary one:
And so, like a child impatient
And sick of a discontent,
I bowed in a shower of teardrops
And mourned with the instrument.
And lo! as I bowed, the splendor
Of the sun bent over me,
With a touch as warm and tender
As a father’s hand might be:
And even as I felt its presence,
My clouded soul grew bright,
And the tears, like the rain of morning,
Melted in mists of light.
#6 “A Rainy Day In April” by Francis Ledwidge
When the clouds shake their hyssops, and the rain
Like holy water falls upon the plain,
‘Tis sweet to gaze upon the springing grain
And see your harvest born.
And sweet the little breeze of melody
The blackbird puffs upon the budding tree,
While the wild poppy lights upon the lea
And blazes ‘mid the corn.
The skylark soars the freshening shower to hail,
And the meek daisy holds aloft her pail,
And Spring all radiant by the wayside pale
Sets up her rock and reel.
See how she weaves her mantle fold on fold,
Hemming the woods and carpeting the wold.
Her warp is of the green, her woof the gold,
The spinning world her wheel.
#7 “Rain In The Mountains” by Henry Lawson
The Valley’s full of misty cloud,
Its tinted beauty drowning,
The Eucalypti roar aloud,
The mountain fronts are frowning.
The mist is hanging like a pall
From many granite ledges,
And many a little waterfall
Starts o’er the valley’s edges.
The sky is of a leaden grey,
Save where the north is surly,
The driven daylight speeds away,
And night comes o’er us early.
But, love, the rain will pass full soon,
Far sooner than my sorrow,
And in a golden afternoon
The sun may set to-morrow.
#8 “Rainfall” by Emily Pauline Johnson
From out the west, where darkling storm-clouds float,
The ‘waking wind pipes soft its rising note.
From out the west, o’erhung with fringes grey,
The wind preludes with sighs its roundelay,
Then blowing, singing, piping, laughing loud,
It scurries on before the grey storm-cloud;
Across the hollow and along the hill
It whips and whirls among the maples, till
With boughs upbent, and green of leaves blown wide,
The silver shines upon their underside.
A gusty freshening of humid air,
With showers laden, and with fragrance rare;
And now a little sprinkle, with a dash
Of great cool drops that fall with sudden splash;
Then over field and hollow, grass and grain,
The loud, crisp whiteness of the nearing rain.
#9 “Rain-Songs” by Paul Laurence Dunbar
The rain streams down like harp-strings from the sky;
The wind, that world-old harpist sitteth by;
And ever as he sings his low refrain,
He plays upon the harp-strings of the rain.
#10 “Rain” by Madison Julius Cawein
Around, the stillness deepened; then the grain
Went wild with wind; and every briery lane
Was swept with dust; and then, tempestuous black,
Hillward the tempest heaved a monster back,
That on the thunder leaned as on a cane;
And on huge shoulders bore a cloudy pack,
That gullied gold from many a lightning-crack:
One big drop splashed and wrinkled down the pane,
And then field, hill, and wood were lost in rain.
At last, through clouds, – as from a cavern hewn.
Into night’s heart, – the sun burst angry roon;
And every cedar, with its weight of wet,
Against the sunset’s fiery splendor set,
Frightened to beauty, seemed with rubies strewn:
Then in drenched gardens, like sweet phantoms met,
Dim odors rose of pink and mignonette;
And in the east a confidence, that soon
Grew to the calm assurance of the moon.