RAIN BEFORE DAWN

by: F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940)

      HE dull, faint patter in the drooping hours
      Drifts in upon my sleep and fills my hair
      With damp; the burden of the heavy air
      Is strewn upon me where my tired soul cowers,
      Shrinking like some lone queen in empty towers
      Dying. Blind with unrest I grow aware:
      The pounding of broad wings drifts down the stair
      And sates me like the heavy scent of flowers.
       
      I lie upon my heart. My eyes like hands
      Grip at the soggy pillow. Now the dawn
      Tears from her wetted breast the splattered blouse
      Of night; lead-eyed and moist she straggles o'er the lawn,
      Between the curtains brooding stares and stands
      Like some drenched swimmer -- Death's within the house!

"Rain Before Dawn" is reprinted from the Nassau Literary Magazine, February, 1917.

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