Note #3

The grasses in the field have toppled,
and in places it seems that a large, now
absent, animal must have passed the night.
The hay will right itself if the day

turns dry. I miss you steadily, painfully.
None of your blustering entrances
or exits, doors, swinging wildly
on their hinges, or your huge unconscious
sighs when you read something sad,
like Henry Adams's letters from Japan,
where he travelled after Clover died.

Everything blooming bows down in the rain:
white Irises, red Peonies; and the Poppies
with their black and secret centers
lie shattered on the lawn.

The poet, Jane Kenyon, gives a praise to the summer rains through refrences to other literature but also through clever diction and comparisons of personal experience. She does this with first hand feelings like "I miss you steadily, painfully"as if she had seen it with her own eyes, she describes the rain as a majestic unconscious, something "everything blooming bows down too" as they should because with out it they would all wither and die. She is almost speaking for the plants and the summer season around her like the Lorax. Although her opening statement is rather disheartning toward rain as it causes "grasses to topple" her mood brightens as if the sounds of the rain had given her joy and now that it is gone has left a painful emptiness.