Today, among the book donations that regularly appear at the library, was a small book of poems by Thomas Hardy. I took it.
This evening, a thunderstorm with driving rain has been taking its time about leaving.
On the Doorstep
by Thomas Hardy
The rain imprinted the step's wet shine
With target-circles that quivered and crossed
As I was leaving this porch of mine;
When from within there swelled and paused
A song's sweet note;
And back I turned, and thought,
'Here I'll abide.'
The step shines wet beneath the rain,
Which prints its circles as heretofore;
I watch them from the porch again,
But no song-notes within the door
Now call to me
To shun the dripping lea;
And forth I stride.