In the Old Garret

Ho, for the rain, the lovely rain.
Crinkling over the window-pane;
     Washing the dust of many a hoof.
From the green of the pasture lane;
     And rushing, tumbling, down the roof,
As they let it do in Spain!

Beat, beat, patter and beat,
     ‘Tis the frolic flight
Of a thousand elves with hurrying feet,
          Tripping and dancing, 
          Leaping, prancing,
Splashing each other with all their might.

No more play out-doors to-day,
But oh, the garret is twice as gay!
A beautiful room just under the stars, 
With granny's loom and the raddle-bars, 
The swifts, the reel, and the spinning-wheel, 
Sea-chests that rode on Noah's keel;
And the crippled chairs of all downstairs 
Ready for engines, boats, and cars!

On the smoky rafters, overhead, 
Spiders, the goblin weavers, spread
Clouds of silken tapestries;
     Woven in their silent loom,
     Happily spared by Betty's broom, 
If not for her fancy, then for ease.

Hail to the rain, the beautiful rain, 
Washing clear the window-pane, 
And driving us to this wonder-camp 
     Of ancient things; while over us sings 
The marching storm its "Tramp, tramp!" 
Out-doors with the sun, for work or play!
          But hip, hooray!
For this jolly old room on a rainy day!