Henley Regatta

She looks from the window: still it pours down direly,
And the avenue drips. She cannot go, she fears;
And the Regatta will be spoilt entirely;
And she sheds half-crazed tears.

Regatta Day and rain come on together
Again, years after. Gutters trickle loud;
But Nancy cares not. She knows nought of weather,
Or of the Henley crowd:

She’s a Regatta quite her own. Inanely
She laughs in the asylum as she floats
Within a water-tub, which she calls “Henley,”
Her little paper boats.