Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain br On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me br Remembering again that I shall die br And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks br For washing me cleaner than I have been br Since I was born into this solitude. br Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon: br But here I pray that none whom once I loved br Is dying to-night or lying still awake br Solitary, listening to the rain, br Either in pain or thus in sympathy br Helpless among the living and the dead, br Like a cold water among broken reeds, br Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff, br Like me who have no love which this wild rain br Has not dissolved except the love of death, br If love it be towards what is perfect and br Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.