Rain Before Dawn
by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The dull, faint patter in the drooping hours
Drifts in upon my sleep and fills my hair
With damp; the burden of the heavy air
In strewn upon me where my tired soul cowers,
Shrinking like some lone queen in empty towers
Dying. Blind with unrest I grow aware:
The pounding broad wings drifts down the stair
And sates me like the heavy scent of flowers.

I lie upon heart. My eyes like hands
Grip at the soggy pillow. Now the dawn
Tears from her wetted breast the spattered blouse
Of night; lead-eyed and moist she straggles o’er the lawn.
Between the curtains brooding stares and stands
Like some drenched swimmer—Death’s within the house

Published in Nassau Literary Magazine magazine (February 1917).

Not illustrated.