When The Rain Beats On The Roof

When the hard day’s work has ended,

     And the supper cleared from sight,

And the evening games were over;

     And the neighbors said “good night,”

Then I used to climb the stairway,

     To my cosy attic bed,

Where I listened to the rain beat

     On the roof afore my head.

‘Twas a plain, unfinished chamber,

     And the beams were stained with black;

And the snow sometimes in winter

     Sifted through a hidden crack.

Or the wind swept down the valley

     Like a distant cannon’s roar;

And I heard the ice-cracks thunder

     As they broke from shore to shore.

But I felt a sense of comfort

     In my cosy attic bed

And the din without was music,

     On the stream, or overhead.

With my head close to the rafters

     And my young heart free from pain,

I could lie for hours and listen

     To the pelting of the rain.

Was it winter, was it summer

     I was happy o’er again;

Lying in my bed to listen

     To the beating of the rain.

Then my attic was a castle,

     And its walls were grand an high;

And each rain-drop was a jewel

     From a diamond studded sky.

And I pictured scenes of battle,

     And I heard the martial air

Of the bands that filled the soldiers

     With a heart to do and dare.

Or perhaps a peaceful valley

     Lay beneath my raptured eyes,

While the rain was gently falling

     On a stretch of paradise.

O my little attic chamber

     Miles beyond this busy town!

How my heart turns to your keeping

     When the rain comes pouring down.

O the joyous hours of boyhood,

     ‘Neath the rafters black with stain,

Lying tucked in bed to listen

     To the patter of the rain!

c. Dec. 28, 1902