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 this 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,
This is an echo of the  Sermon on the Mount ; “Blessed are those who mourn”, but reiterates the context of rain. And it is the dead who are blessed rather than those who remain alive and mourn.
Rain