 After a night of rain, by Madison Cowine, read for Libbybox.org, by Algypug. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the morn looked from the hopeless east with eyes forlorn, as from her attic looks a dull-eyed maid. The choreopsis drips. The sunflowers fade. The garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where dim of horn, the slow snail slimes the grasses gaunt and grade. Like some pale nun, in penitential weeds, weary with weeping, telling sad her beads, her rosary of pods of hollyhocks, September comes, heavy of heart and head, while, in her path, the draggled four o'clock's drip all their flowers, saying, Summer's dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Here a Night of Rain by Madison Cowine, read for Libbybox.org, by Bruce Gachuk. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the morn looks from the hopeless east with eyes forlorn, as from her attic looks a dull-eyed maid. The choreopsis drips. The sunflowers fade. The garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where dim of horn, the slow snail slimes the grasses gaunt and grade. Like some pale nun, in penitential weeds, weary with weeping, telling sad her beads, her rosary of pods of hollyhocks, September comes, heavy of heart and head, while, in her path, the draggled four o'clock's drip all their flowers, saying, Summer's dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. After a Night of Rain by Madison Cowine, read for Libbybox.org, by Caitlin Buckley. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the morn looks from the hopeless east with eyes forlorn, as from her attic looks a dull-eyed maid. The choreopsis drips. The sunflowers fade. The garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where, dim of horn, the slow snail slimes the grasses gaunt and grade. Like some pale nun, in penitential weeds, weary with weeping, telling her sad beads, her rosary of pods of hollyhocks, September comes, heavy of heart and head, while, in her path, the draggled four o'clock's drip all their flowers, saying, Summer's dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. After a Night of Rain by Madison Cowine, read for Libbybox.org, by Chad Horner, from Balli Clare, in County Antrim, Northern Ireland, situated in the northeast of the province of Ulster. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the morn looks from the hopeless east, with eyes forlorn, as from her attic looks a dull-eyed maid. The choreopsis drips. The sunflowers fade. The garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where, dim of horn, the slow snail slimes the grasses, gunt and grayed, like some peal-none, impenitential weeds, weary with weeping, telling sad her beads. A rosary of pods of hollyhocks, September comes, heavy of heart and head, while, in her path, the draggled four o'clock's drip all their flowers, saying, Summer's dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. After a night of rain, by Madison Cawine, read for LibriVox.org, by Cornel Namesh, in a Reno, Nevada. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the morn looks from the hopeless east, with eyes forlorn, as from her attic looks a dull eyed maid. The choreopses drips, the sunflowers fade. The garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where, dim of horn, the slow snail slimes the grasses gaunt and grayed. Like some pale nun, in penitential weeds, weary with weeping, telling sad her beads. Her rosary of pods of hollyhocks, September comes, heavy of heart and head. While, in her path, the draggled four o'clock's droop all their flowers, saying, Summer's dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. After a night of rain, by Madison Cawine, read for LibriVox.org, by David Lawrence. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the morn looks from the hopeless east, with eyes forlorn. As from her attic looks a dull eyed maid. The choreopses drips, the sunflowers fade. The garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where, dim of horn, the slow snail slimes. The grasses gaunt in grade, like some pale nun, in penitential weeds, weary with weeping, telling sad her beads. Her rosary of pods of hollyhocks. September comes, heavy of heart and head. While, in her path, the draggled four o'clock's droop all their flowers, saying, Summer's dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. After a night of rain, by Madison Cawine, read for LibriVox.org, by Eva Davis. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the morn looks from the hopeless east, with eyes forlorn. As from her attic looks a dull eyed maid. The choreopsis drips, the sunflowers fade. The garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where, dim of horn, the slow snail slimes. The grasses gaunt in grade, like some pale nun, in penitential weeds, weary with weeping, telling sad her beads, her rosary of pods of hollyhocks. September comes, heavy of heart and head. While, in her path, the draggled four o'clock's droop all their flowers, saying, Summer's dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. After a night of rain, by Madison Cawine, read for LibriVox.org, by Newgate Novelist. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the morn looks from the hopeless east, with eyes forlorn. As from her attic looks a dull eyed maid. The choreopsis drips, the sunflowers fade. A garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where, dim of horn, the slow snail slimes. The grasses gaunt in grade, like some pale nun, in penitential weeds, weary with dropping, telling sad her beads, her rosary of pods of hollyhocks. September comes, heavy of heart and head. While, in her path, the draggled four o'clock's droop all their flowers, saying, Summer's dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. After a night of rain, by Madison Kaywin, read for LibriVox.org, by Garth Burton. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the morn looks from the hopeless east, with eyes forlorn. As from her attic looks a dull eyed maid. The choreopsis drips, the sunflowers fade. The garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where, dim of horn, the slow snail slimes the grasses, gaunt in grade. Like some pale nun, in penitential weeds, weary with weeping, telling sad her beads, her misery of pods of hollyhocks September comes, heavy of heart and head. While, in her path, the draggled four o'clock's droop all their flowers, saying, Summer's dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. After a night of rain, by Madison Kaywin, read for LibriVox.org, by Graham Scott, England. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the morn looks from the hopeless east, with eyes forlorn. As from her attic looks a dull eyed maid. The choreopsis drips, the sunflowers fade. The garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where, dim of horn, the slow snail slimes the grasses, gaunt in grade. Like some pale nun, in penitential weeds, weary with weeping, telling sad her beads, her rosary of pods of hollyhocks September comes, heavy of heart and head. While in her path the draggled four o'clock's droop all their flowers, saying, Summer's dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. After a night of rain, by Madison Kaywin, read for LibriVox.org, by Ian King. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the mourn looks from the hopeless east, with eyes forlorn. As from her attic looks a dull eyed maid. The choreopsis drips, the sunflowers fade. The garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where, dim of horn, the slow snail slimes the grasses, gaunt and grade. Like some pale nun, in penitential weeds, weary with weeping, telling sad her beads, her rosary of pods of hollyhocks September comes, heavy of heart and head. While, in her path, the draggled four o'clock's droop all their flowers, saying, Summer's dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. After a night of rain, by Madison Kaywin, read for LibriVox.org, by Ian Howlett. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the mourn looks from the hopeless east with eyes forlorn. As from her attic looks a dull eyed maid. The choreopsis drips, the sunflowers fade. The garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where, dim of horn, the slow snail slimes the grasses gaunt and grade. Like some pale nun, in penitential weeds, weary with weeping, telling sad her beads, her rosary of pods of hollyhocks September comes, heavy of heart and head. While, in her path, the draggled four o'clock's droop all their flowers, saying, Summer's dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. After a night of rain, by Madison Kaywin, read for LibriVox.org, by Michael Knowles. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the mourn looks from the hopeless east with eyes forlorn. As from her attic looks a dull eyed maid. The choreopsis drips, the sunflowers fade. The garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where, dim of horn, the slow snail slimes the grasses gaunt and grade. Like some pale nun, in penitential weeds, weary with weeping, telling sad her beads, her rosary of pods of hollyhocks. September comes, heavy of heart and head. While, in her path, the draggled four o'clock's droop all their flowers, saying, Summer's dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. After a night of rain, by Madison Kaywin, read for LibriVox.org, by Robin Ann Rappaport. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the mourn looks from the hopeless east with eyes forlorn. As from her attic looks a dull eyed maid. The choreopsis drips, the sunflowers fade. The garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where, dim of horn, the slow snail slimes the grasses gaunt and grade. Like some pale nun, in penitential weeds, weary with weeping, telling sad her beads, her rosary of pods of hollyhocks. September comes, heavy of heart and head. While, in her path, the draggled four o'clock's droop all their flowers, saying, summer's dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. After a night of rain, by Madison Kaywin, read for LibriVox.org, by Tavares. The rain made ruin of the rose, and frayed the lily into tatters. Now the mourn looks from the hopeless east with eyes forlorn. As from her attic looks a dull-eyed maid. The choreopsis drips, the sunflowers fade. The garden reeks with rain. Beneath the thorn the toadstools crowd their rims, where, dim of horn, the slow snail slimes the grasses gaunt and grade. Like some pale nun, in penitential weeds, weary with weeping, telling sad her beads, her rosary of pods of hollyhocks. September comes, heavy of heart and head. While, in her path, the draggled four o'clock's droop all their flowers, saying, summer's dead. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain.