It's raining daffodils;
In every dimpled drop I see
Wild flowers on the hills.
The clouds of gray engulf the day
And overwhelm the town;
It is not raining rain to me,
It's raining roses down.
And overwhelm the town;
It is not raining rain to me,
It's raining roses down.
It is not raining rain to me,
But fields of clover bloom,
where any buccaneering bee
Can find a bed and room.
Health unto the happy,
A fig for him who frets!
It is not raining rain to me,
It's raining violets.
--Robert Loveman
