“Even the rain in its night singing, / the night rain in its forgetting, / is a kind of light.”
“This parched evening seasons the night with remembrances of rain.”
“And what does the rain say at night in a small town, what does the rain have to say? Who walks beneath dripping melancholy branches listening to the rain? Who is there in the rain’s million-needled blurring splash, listening to the grave music of the rain at night, September rain, September rain, so dark and soft? Who is there listening to steady level roaring rain all around, brooding and listening and waiting, in the rain-washed, rain-twinkled dark of night?”
“And on this dirty night there were appropriately dirty deeds that not even the rain could wash away.”
“The hard rain nailed the night to the city.”
“...I watch her so much that I forget it's raining at all.”