From the Grand Forks Daily Herald, May 13, 1915. By Robert Loveman.

It isn’t raining rain to me,
    It’s raining daffodils.
In every dimpled drop I see
    Wild flowers on the hills.
The clouds of gray engulf the day
    And overwhelm the town—
It isn’t raining rain for me
    It’s raining roses down.
It isn’t raining rain to me,
    But fields of clover bloom
Where any buccaneering bee
    May find a bed and room.
A health unto the happy
    A fig for him who frets—
It isn’t raining rain to me
    It’s raining violets.