The slanting rain strikes sharply through the trees

Whipping the fluttering leaves from the slender stem

To lie bedraggled on the stormswept ground

Or blow about in rushing, swirling breeze.

The rain beats finely on the walker's face,

Cooling his passions heat to sane reserve,

Quickens the blood, excited the dormant mind.

He pushes against the wind with brisker pace,

Knowing a savage joy in honest fight

Against the unleashed, moving elements,

The whirling wind and driving rain,

And in the coolness finds a keen delight.