The rain is falling, it sounds like the tears

After Shakespeare's 'Sonnet 119'

The rain is falling, it sounds like the tears
of the broad arching sky. I'm sitting within
the architecture of a home and what I fear
is the absolute and infinite. Rain is winning
affection from the ground, it seems committed
to growth of grass and tree, the rain has never
done violence to anyone. The canals are fitted
with corridors of trees, the summer fever
is like pollen in the air. There is a true
reflection of the Moon on water that's better
than any Monet. Now I declare the new
is merely an illusion, that she is greater
than any object, her resplendent content
illumines everything and is never spent.