RAIN BEFORE DAWN
by: F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940)

HE dull, faint patter in the drooping hours

Drifts in upon my sleep and fills my hair

With damp; the burden of the heavy air

Is strewn upon me where my tired soul cowers,

Shrinking like some lone queen in empty towers

Dying. Blind with unrest I grow aware:

The pounding of broad wings drifts down the stair

And sates me like the heavy scent of flowers.

 

I lie upon my heart. My eyes like hands

Grip at the soggy pillow. Now the dawn

Tears from her wetted breast the splattered blouse

Of night; lead-eyed and moist she straggles o'er the lawn,

Between the curtains brooding stares and stands

Like some drenched swimmer -- Death's within the house!