Advent Day 14 - London Snow

Chrissy has chosen this poem by Robert Bridges. "because my Mum learnt it when she was at school and she was asked to recite it to the class. She still knows the whole poem off by heart and she is 91! "

LONDON SNOW

Snow sceneWhen men were all asleep the snow came flying, 
In large white flakes falling on the city brown, 
Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying, 
 Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town; 
Deadening, muffling, stifling its murmurs failing; 
Lazily and incessantly floating down and down: 
Silently sifting and veiling road, roof and railing; 
Hiding difference, making unevenness even, 
Into angles and crevices softly drifting and sailing. 
 All night it fell, and when full inches seven 
It lay in the depth of its uncompacted lightness, 
The clouds blew off from a high and frosty heaven; 
 And all woke earlier for the unaccustomed brightness 
Of the winter dawning, the strange unheavenly glare: 
The eye marvelled—marvelled at the dazzling whiteness; 
 The ear hearkened to the stillness of the solemn air; 
No sound of wheel rumbling nor of foot falling, 
And the busy morning cries came thin and spare. 
 Then boys I heard, as they went to school, calling, 
They gathered up the crystal manna to freeze 
Their tongues with tasting, their hands with snowballing; 
 Or rioted in a drift, plunging up to the knees; 
Or peering up from under the white-mossed wonder, 
‘O look at the trees!’ they cried, ‘O look at the trees!’ 
 With lessened load a few carts creak and blunder, 
Following along the white deserted way, 
A country company long dispersed asunder: 
 When now already the sun, in pale display 
Standing by Paul’s high dome, spread forth below 
His sparkling beams, and awoke the stir of the day. 
 For now doors open, and war is waged with the snow; 
And trains of sombre men, past tale of number, 
Tread long brown paths, as toward their toil they go: 
 But even for them awhile no cares encumber 
Their minds diverted; the daily word is unspoken, 
The daily thoughts of labour and sorrow slumber 
At the sight of the beauty that greets them, for the charm they have broken.

 

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