<h3 id="Wet_Weather">Wet Weather</h3>
<p>IT is the English in me that loves the soft, wet weather—<br/>
The cloud upon the mountain, the mist upon the sea,<br/>
The sea-gull flying low and near with rain upon each feather,<br/>
The scent of deep, green woodlands where the buds are breaking free.</p>
<p>A world all hot with sunshine, with a hot, white sky above it—<br/>
Oh then I feel an alien in a land I’d call my own;<br/>
The rain is like a friend’s caress, I lean to it and love it,<br/>
’Tis like a finger on a nerve that thrills for it alone!</p>
<p>Is it the secret kinship which each new life is given<br/>
To link it by an age-long chain to those whose lives are through,<br/>
That wheresoever he may go, by fate or fancy driven,<br/>
The home-star rises in his heart to keep the compass true?</p>
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<p>Ah, ’tis the English in me that loves the soft, gray weather—<br/>
The little mists that trail along like bits of wind-flung foam,<br/>
The primrose and the violet—all wet and sweet together,<br/>
And the sound of water calling, as it used to call at home.</p>
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