Harringay, Haringey - So Good they Spelt it Twice!
London Snow by Robert Bridges
Thanks to Mrs E for turning this one up.
London Snow
| When 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. |
Tags for Forum Posts: snow
Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by Liz on
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It's a beautiful poem isn't it?
I've got Michael Rosen to thank for tweeting that link out this morning (while I was watching the snow).
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Permalink Reply by james walsh on
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Marvelous, no more words needed.
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Agree, one of my favourites. First read it in Mrs Conlon's Class 5 in early December 1954. I remember because a bunch of us had just sat the first leg of the old Eleven+ exam the previous day and this was one of a cluster of Weather poems she gave us by way of a treat. Clonalig Primary School may have been far removed from London streets but a line like 'With lessened load a few carts creak and blunder' was still as recognisable to us in 1954 as in Bridges' time. Rosen, Respect! (Glad to see his tweet didn't squeeze Bridges into 240 characters.)
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Permalink Reply by John D on
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Nice poem, thanks Hugh.
But boys going to school through seven inches of snow, up to their knees ? Changed days :-)
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Permalink Reply by Malcolm on
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Schools of today eh? 'Twere different in the good old days.
Of course then teachers lived in/above/around the school, and people walked rather than drove to school.
Both might be sensible things to go back to...
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Can't help thinking I need to read this little gem again watching the snow falling outside
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Thanks Liz for the revisit.
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