We could do with some of this kind of rain, tumbling tears, big-dropped, spillingly abundant but not surgingly so.  This doesn’t in fact describe rain itself, but the dream of rain of a Russian aristocrat fantasising about a bucolic existence on his estates. 

If rain comes, it is such a beneficient summer rain!  It falls briskly, abundantly, splashing along merrily like the big, warm tears of a man overcome with sudden joy.

Source: Ivan Goncharov, Oblomov, trans. David Magarshack (London: Penguin, 1954 (1859)), p. 105

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