Written in 1916, during his training as a World War I soldier, Edward Thomas's "Rain" contemplates the solitude of life and the inevitability of death. The poem's speaker lies awake and alone at night, listening to a "wild rain" outside. Though he sympathizes with all "the living and the dead" under the rainstorm, the speaker feels lonely and detached from human love. Instead, he feels "the love of death," or a peaceful acceptance of his own mortality. "Rain" appeared in the collection Poems in 1917, shortly after Thomas's death at the Battle of Arras that same year.
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1Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
2On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
3Remembering again that I shall die
4And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
5For washing me cleaner than I have been
6Since I was born into this solitude.
7Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
8But here I pray that none whom once I loved
9Is dying tonight or lying still awake
10Solitary, listening to the rain,
11Either in pain or thus in sympathy
12Helpless among the living and the dead,
13Like a cold water among broken reeds,
14Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,
15Like me who have no love which this wild rain
16Has not dissolved except the love of death,
17If love it be towards what is perfect and
18Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.
1Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
2On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
3Remembering again that I shall die
4And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
5For washing me cleaner than I have been
6Since I was born into this solitude.
7Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
8But here I pray that none whom once I loved
9Is dying tonight or lying still awake
10Solitary, listening to the rain,
11Either in pain or thus in sympathy
12Helpless among the living and the dead,
13Like a cold water among broken reeds,
14Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,
15Like me who have no love which this wild rain
16Has not dissolved except the love of death,
17If love it be towards what is perfect and
18Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.
Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
For washing me cleaner than I have been
Since I was born into this solitude.
Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
Is dying tonight or lying still awake
Solitary, listening to the rain,
Either in pain or thus in sympathy
Helpless among the living and the dead,
Like a cold water among broken reeds,
Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,
Like me who have no love which this wild rain
Has not dissolved except the love of death,
If love it be towards what is perfect and
Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
The Poem Aloud — Listen to a reading of "Rain."
The Poet's Life and Work — Read a biography of Thomas at the Poetry Foundation.
More on Thomas and "Rain" — The Poetry Archive's biography of Thomas, including context on the writing of "Rain."
Rain in "The Icknield Way" — Read a prose description of heavy rain in Thomas's 1911 "The Icknield Way," which Thomas is thought to have drawn on in writing the poem.
Edward Thomas Remembered — A 1967 interview with Thomas's widow, Helen, about her recollections of the poet.