The hills are misty throughout the rain

And all their green and rounded tops

Are in the clouds. A silver sheet

Falls o'er the nearer slopes,

Is blown in gusts, to fiercely beat

Against the hilltop pines

And driven in steady slanting lines

Across the valley and the fields.

In all the hills

There lies the silence of the silver rain,

And running water is the only sound,

And steady drip of leaves,

And all around

The rain Slowly ceases,

And the patter grows less loud,

Here a few last hurrying drops

Beat rain pools into turmoil.

These grow smooth again,

Reflect the clouds above, are calm.

The far-off tops of green clad hill

Are hid in misty silver still,

After the hour of storm is past.

Then slowly comes across the sky

A long low streak of blue

Where clouds are broken; and on high

The promise of the sun.