Spril. 
II. W. Longfellow. 
LL clay the low-hung clouds have dropped 
Their garnered fulness down ; 
All day that soft gray mist hath wrapped 
Hill, valley, grove and town. 
There has not been a sound to-day 
To break the calm of nature ; 
Nor motion, I might almost say, 
Of life, or living creature,— 
Of waving bough, or warbling bird, 
Or cattle faintly lowing, 
I could have half believed I heard 
The leaves and blossoms growing. 
I stood to hear—I love it well— 
The rain’s continuous sound ; 
Small drops, but thick and fast they fell 
Down straight into the ground. 
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