Snow in The Suburbs

December 20, 2007 at 9:24 pm 1 comment

   

Every branch big with it,
Bent every twig with it;
Every fork like a white web-foot;
Every street and pavement mute;
Some flakes have lost their way, and grope back upward, when
Meeting those meandering down they turn and descend again.
The palings are glued together like a wall,
And there is no waft of wind with the fleecy fall.

A sparrow enters the tree,
Whereupon immediately
A snow-lump thrice his own slight size
Descends on him and showers his head and eyes,
And overturns him,
And near inurns him,
And lights on a nether twig, when its brush
Starts off a volley of other lodging lumps with a rush.

The steps are a blanched slope,
Up which, with feeble hope,
A black cat comes, wide-eyed and thin;
And we take him in.

–Thomas Hardy

snow-day5.jpg

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Entry filed under: poetry. Tags: , .

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1 Comment Add your own

  • 1. Mary-Laure  |  January 19, 2008 at 7:42 am

    Love it! Thomas Hardy is one of my favorite authors!

    Reply

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