Im not very good at poems.. so i need your !

how beautiful is the rain!
after the dust and heat,
in the broad and fiery street,
in the narrow lane,

how beautiful is the rain!
how it clatters along the roofs,
like the tramp of hoofs
how it gushes and struggles out
from the throat of the overflowing spout!

the sick man from his chamber looks
at the twisted brooks;
he can feel the cool
breath of each little pool;
his fevered brain
grows calm again,
and he breathes a blessing on the rain.

from the neighboring school
come the boys,
with more than their wonted noise
and commotion;
and down the wet streets
sail their mimic fleets,
till the treacherous pool
ingulfs them in its whirling
and turbulent ocean.

question - does each stanza have the same meter?

meter - a recurring pattern of stressed and unstressed syllables

you!

Which three parts of this passage from chapter 6 of emily brontë's wuthering heights show that hindley earnshaw did not care about the well-being of catherine and heathcliff after the death of mr. earnshaw? they both promised fair to grow up as rude as savages; the young master being entirely negligent how they behaved, and what they did, so they kept clear of him. he would not even have seen after their going to church on sundays, only joseph and the curate reprimanded his carelessness when they absented themselves; and that reminded him to order heathcliff a flogging, and catherine a fast from dinner or supper. but it was one of their chief amusements to run away to the moors in the morning and remain there all day, and the after punishment grew a mere thing to laugh at. the curate might set as many chapters as he for catherine to get by heart, and joseph might thrash heathcliff till his arm ached; they forgot everything the minute they were together again: at least the minute they had contrived some naughty plan of revenge; and many a time i’ve cried to myself to watch them growing more reckless daily, and i not daring to speak a syllable, for fear of losing the small power i still retained over the unfriended creatures. one sunday evening, it chanced that they were banished from the sitting-room, for making a noise, or a light offence of the kind; and when i went to call them to supper, i could discover them nowhere. we searched the house, above and below, and the yard and stables; they were invisible: and, at last, hindley in a passion told us to bolt the doors, and swore nobody should let them in that night. the household went to bed; and i, too, anxious to lie down, opened my lattice and put my head out to hearken, though it rained: determined to admit them in spite of the prohibition, should they return.