A Celebration of Women Writers

"Wet Weather." by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay (1875-1928)
From: Fires of Driftwood. by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, Limited, 1922, pp. 35-36.

Editor: Mary Mark Ockerbloom

[Page 35] 

Wet Weather

IT is the English in me that loves the soft, wet weather–
  The cloud upon the mountain, the mist upon the sea,
The sea-gull flying low and near with rain upon each feather,
  The scent of deep, green woodlands where the buds are breaking free.

A world all hot with sunshine, with a hot, white sky above it–
  Oh then I feel an alien in a land I'd call my own;
The rain is like a friend's caress, I lean to it and love it,
  'Tis like a finger on a nerve that thrills for it alone!

Is it the secret kinship which each new life is given
  To link it by an age-long chain to those whose lives are through,
That wheresoever he may go, by fate or fancy driven,
  The home-star rises in his heart to keep the compass true?

[Page 36] 

Ah, 'tis the English in me that loves the soft, gray weather–
  The little mists that trail along like bits of wind-flung foam,
The primrose and the violet–all wet and sweet together,
  And the sound of water calling, as it used to call at home.


Editor: Mary Mark Ockerbloom