WW1 Poetry Analysis_Lena Johnston

WW1 Poetry Analysis_Lena Johnston
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  • 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 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 sympathyHelpless 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.
  • BY: LENA JOHNSTON
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