I think Guillame Apollinaire's poem Il Pleut (It's Raining)  is quite beautiful—and appropriate for this week's gloomy East Coast weather. The Futurist poem was meant to communicate as much through its shape as through its words.
Below, find a linear English translation by Roger Shattuck.
It’s raining women’s voices as if they had died even in memory
And it’s raining you as well marvellous encounters of my life O little
Those rearing clouds begin to neigh a whole universe of auricular cities
Listen if it rains while regret and disdain weep to an ancient music
Listen to the bonds fall off which hold you above and below