Lizette Woodworth Reese catches a moment at evening when everything feels slightly muted and tender. A single star, a scrap of rain, and the smell of mint blown in from old gardens make the speaker feel small and a little lonely. The scene is not dramatic; it is ordinary, yet weighted with feeling. Market carts roll through the damp street under a wide grey-and-ochre sky, passing rows of rain-darkened houses. The sound of water from two spouts—one quick, one broken—fills the air with something close to sadness, described as “the ache of old regret.” The mood is quiet and nostalgic, not despairing. It is the kind of rain that makes the world seem soft and a bit distant, as if memory itself is drifting past with the carts.
A Wet Spell — Summary
One star; the dusk; a scrap of rain. A little sad, alone, Out of the wet old gardens blown, The scent of mint pricks at the pane. And market carts go by, Into a large, soft sky, Of grey, of ochre, too; Dully they go their way, Past file of houses rainy grey, A file of blue. One spout is quick and sweet, One broken and high ; Their poignancies fill all the country street- The ache of old regret, Down the thin wet — Into the large, soft sky, The market carts drip by.