Thick clouds, the sweet smell of Earth, the pit-pit patter of the raindrops, the sound of the flowing water, the brooding birds on the trees, the colorful umbrellas, and hot coffee are some of the beautiful things we associate with the rainy season.
Grab an umbrella and venture out into the rain with your children. Just as you enjoy the beautiful rain, enjoy these beautiful rain poems for kids and read them aloud to your children.
20 Rain Poems And Songs For kids
1. April Rain Song
Let the rain kiss you
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
Let the rain sing you a lullaby
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The rain makes running pools in the gutter
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night
And I love the rain.
2. Rain Music
On the dusty earth-drum
Beats the falling rain;
Now a whispered murmur,
Now a louder strain.
Slender, silvery drumsticks,
On an ancient drum,
Beat the mellow music
Bidding life to come.
Chords of earth awakened,
Notes of greening spring,
Rise and fall triumphant
Slender, silvery drumsticks
Beat the long tattoo—
God, the Great Musician,
Calling life anew.
—Joseph Seamon Cotter
The rain is raining all around,
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.
—Robert Louis Stevenson
4. Who Likes The Rain
“I,” said the duck. “I call it fun,
For I have my pretty red rubbers on;
They make a little three-toed track
In the soft, cool mud—quack! Quack!”
“I,” cried the dandelion, “I,
My roots are thirsty, my buds are dry,”
And she lifted a tousled yellow head
Out of her green and grassy bed.
Sang the brook: “I welcome every drop,
Come down, dear raindrops; never stop
Until a broad river you make of me,
And then I will carry you to the sea.”
“I,” shouted Ted, “for I can run,
With my high-top boots and raincoat on,
Through every puddle and runlet and pool
I find on the road to school.”
—Clara Doty Bates
5. Rain In Summer
How beautiful is the rain!
After the dust and heat,
In the broad and fiery street,
In the narrow lane,
How beautiful is the rain!
How it clatters along the roofs
Like the tramp of hoofs!
How it gushes and struggles out
From the throat of the overflowing spout!
Across the window-pane
It pours and pours;
And swift and wide,
With a muddy tide,
Like a river down the gutter roars
The rain, the welcome rain!
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
6. Rain Poem
The rain was like a little mouse,
Quiet, small, and gray,
It pattered all around the house
And then it went away.
It did not come, I understand,
Indoors at all, until,
It found an open window and
Left tracks across the sill.
7. Summer Rain
What could be lovelier than to hear the summer rain
Cutting across the heat, as scythes cutting across grain?
Falling upon the steaming roof with sweet uproar,
Tapping and rapping wildly at the door?
No, do not lift the latch, but through the pane
We’ll stand and watch the circus pageant
Of the rain,
And see the lightening, like a tiger, striped and dread,
And hear the thunder cross the shaken sky
With elephant tread.
Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.
9. The Water Cycle
When I was young, I used to think,
That water came from the kitchen sink.
But now I’m older, and I know,
That water comes from rain and snow.
It stays there, waiting in the sky,
In clouds above our world so high.
And when it falls, it flows along,
And splashes out a watery song,
as each raindrop is joined by more
And rushes to the ocean shore,
or to a lake, a brook, a stream,
From which it rises, just like steam.
But while it’s down here what do you think?
Some DOES go to the kitchen sink!
—Helen H. Moore
10. The Rainy Day
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the moldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall.
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the moldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
11. The Rain
He is coming the gentle Rain,
Riding his steed, the wind;
And over the dusty plain
Where grasses thirstily pined
Floats a sigh—
“He is nigh!”
And the thunder grumbles his name
To the lightning’s questioning glance;
While the air, like a restless flame,
Quivers and glows and pants
With the cry—
“He is nigh!”
12. Before The Rain
We knew it would rain, for all the morn,
A spirit on slender ropes of mist
Was lowering its golden buckets down
Into the vapory amethyst
Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens—
Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers,
Dipping the jewels out of the sea,
To sprinkle them over the land in showers.
We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed
The white of their leaves, the amber grain
Shrunk in the wind— and the lightning now
Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain!
—Thomas Bailey Aldrich
13. The Summer Shower
Before the stout harvesters falleth the grain,
As when the strong stormwind is reaping the plain,
And loiters the boy in the briery lane;
But yonder aslant comes the silvery rain,
Like a long line of spears brightly burnished and tall.
Adown the white highway like cavalry fleet,
It dashes the dust with its numberless feet.
Like a murmurless school, in their leafy retreat,
The wild birds sit listening the drops round them beat;
And the boy crouches close to the blackberry wall.
The swallows alone take the storm on the wing,
And, taunting the tree-sheltered laborers, sing.
Like pebbles, the rain breaks the face of the spring,
While a bubble darts up from each widening ring;
And the boy in dismay hears the loud shower fall.
But soon are the harvesters tossing their sheaves;
The robin darts out from his bower of leaves;
The wren peereth forth from the moss-covered eaves;
And the rain-spattered urchin now gladly perceives
That the beautiful bow bendeth over them all.
—Thomas Buchanan Read
14. Woodland Rain
Shining, shining children
Of the summer rain,
Racing down the valley,
Sweeping o’er the plain!
Rushing through the forest,
Pelting on the leaves,
Drenching down the meadow
With its standing sheaves;
Robed in royal silver,
Girt with jewels gay,
With a gust of gladness
You pass upon your way.
Fresh, ah, fresh behind you,
Sunlit and impearled,
As it was in Eden,
Lies the lovely world!
The clouds are shedding tears of joy,
They fall with rhythmic beat
Upon the earth, and soon destroy
Dust dunes and waves of heat.
Each falling drop enforcement bears
To river, lake and rill,
And sweet refreshment gladly shares
With wooded dell and hill.
Every flower, bud and leaf,
Each blossom, branch and tree
Distills the rain, ’tis my belief,
To feed the honey bee.
I pity every wretch I find
Who, frowning in disdain,
Is deaf and dumb and also blind
To beauty in the rain.
—Raymond Garfield Dandridge
Sharp drives the rain, sharp drives the endless rain.
The rain-winds wake and wander, lift and blow.
The slow smoke-wreaths of vapor to and fro
Wave, and unweave, and gather and build again.
Over the far gray reaches of the plain—
Gray miles on miles my passionate thought must go,—
I strain my sight, grown dim with gazing so,
Pressing my face against the streaming pane.
How the rain beats! Ah God, if love had power
To voice its utmost yearning, even tho’
Thro’ time and bitter distance, not in vain,
Surely Her heart would hear me at this hour,
Look thro’ the years, and see! But would She know
The white face pressed against the streaming pane?
—Sir Charles G.D. Roberts
17. Windless Rain
The rain, the desolate rain!
Ceaseless, and solemn, and chill!
How it drips on the misty pane,
How it drenches the darkened sill!
O scene of sorrow and dearth!
I would that the wind awaking
To a fierce and gusty birth,
Might vary this dull refrain
Of the rain, the desolate rain:
For the heart of heaven seems breaking
In tears o’er the fallen earth,
And again, again, again,
We list to the sombre strain,
The faint, cold monotone—
Whose soul is a mystic moan—
Of the rain, the mournful rain,
The soft, despairing rain!
The rain, the murmurous rain!
Weary, passionless, slow,
‘Tis the rhythm of settled sorrow,
‘Tis the sobbing of cureless woe!
And all the tragic of life,
The pathos of Long-Ago,
Comes back on the sad refrain
Of the rain, the dreary rain,
Till the graves in my heart unclose,
And the dead who are buried there
From a solemn and weird repose
Awake,—but with eyeballs drear,
And voices that melt in pain
On the tide of the plaintive rain,
The yearning, hopeless rain,
The long, low, whispering rain!
—Paul Hamilton Hayne
18. April Rain
The April rain, the April rain,
Comes slanting down in fitful showers,
Then from the furrow shoots the grain,
And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;
And in grey shaw and woodland bowers
The cuckoo through the April rain
Calls once again.
The April sun, the April sun,
Glints through the rain in fitful splendour,
And in grey shaw and woodland dun
The little leaves spring forth and tender
Their infant hands, yet weak and slender,
For warmth towards the April sun,
One after one.
And between shower and shine hath birth
The rainbow’s evanescent glory;
Heaven’s light that breaks on mists of earth!
Frail symbol of our human story,
It flowers through showers where, looming hoary,
The rain-clouds flash with April mirth,
Like Life on earth.
19. The Rain Upon The Corn
How sweet the music of the rain,
At evening or morn,
When clouds with trails that reach the ground
Pass o’er the fields of corn.
Man’s work is done. The toiling days
Of heat and anxious care
Are ended, and the falling rain
With music fills the air.
How long and hard the fight since first
Was turned the lifeless sod,
Since first the harrow surged its way
To pulverize each clod,
How long since planting of the seed,
The sacrifice each morn,
To keep the weeds from growing where
Now stands the field of corn.
Out from my window to the fields
I cast a grateful eye,
I see the raindrops falling down
From out the cloudy sky,
And as they fall upon the fields
New hopes in me are born,
For plenty dwells when July rains
Fall on the fields of corn.
I like to see a thunderstorm,
A dunder storm,
A blunder storm,
I like to see it, black and slow,
Come stumbling down the hill.
I like to hear a thunderstorm,
A plunder storm,
A wonder storm,
Roar loudly at our little house
And shake the window sills!
Teach children to live and grow with nature, and tell them the importance of each season. Along with these 20 poems, read more beautiful poems and stories about nature and its greatness. Kids will just love it.
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