Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE SNOW, by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Just as the school came out Last Line: "and hear him say: ""the lad's no fool." | ||||||||
Just as the school came out, The first white flakes were drifting round about: And all the children shouted with delight To see such flakes, so big, so white, Tumbling from a cloud so black, And whirling helter-skelter Across the windy moor: And as they saw the light flakes race, Started off in headlong chase, Swooping on them with a shout, When they seemed to drop for shelter Underneath the dry-stone wall. And then the master, at the schoolhouse door, Called out to them to hurry home, before The storm should come on worse: and watched till all Had started off by road or moorland track: When, turning to his wife, he said It looked like dirty weather overhead: He thought 'twould be a heavy fall, And threatened for a roughish night; But they would all reach home in broad daylight. 'Twas early yet; he'd let the school out soon, As it had looked so lowering since forenoon, And many had a goodish step to go: And it was but ill-travelling in the snow. Then by the fire he settled down to read; And to the weather paid no further heed. And on their road home, full three miles away, John, and his little sister, Janey, started; And at the setting out, were happy-hearted To be let loose into a world so gay, With jolly winds and frisking flakes at play That flicked your cheek, and whistled in your teeth: And now hard on each other's heels they darted To catch a flake that floated like a feather, Then dropt to nestle in a clump of heather; And often tumbled both together Into a deep delicious bed Of brown and springy heath. But when the sky grew blacker overhead, As if it were the coming on of night, And every little hill, well-known to sight, Looked big and strange in its new fleece of white; And as yet faster and more thickly The big flakes fell, To John the thought came that it might be well To hurry home; so, striding on before, He set a steady face across the moor; And called to Janey she must come more quickly. The wind soon dropped: and fine and dry the snow Came whispering down about them, as they trudged: And when they'd travelled for a mile or so, They found it ankle-deep: for here the storm Had started long before it reached the school: And as he felt the dry flakes tingling warm Upon his cheek, and set him all aglow, John in his manly pride, a little grudged That now and then he had to wait awhile For Janey, lagging like a little fool: But when they'd covered near another mile Through that bewildering white without a sound, Save rustling, rustling, rustling all around, And all his well-known world, so queer and dim, He waited until she caught up to him; And felt quite glad that he was not alone. And when they reached the low, half-buried stone That marked where some old shepherd had been found, Lost in the snow in seeking his lost sheep, One wild March night, full forty years ago, He wished, and wished, that they were safe and sound In their own house: and as the snow got deeper, And every little bank seemed strangely steeper, He thought, and thought of that lost sleeper, And saw him lying in the snow; Till every fleecy clump of heath Seemed to shroud a man beneath; And now his blood went hot and cold Through very fear of that dread sight; And then he felt that, in sheer fright, He must take to his heels in flight, He cared not whither, so that it might be Where there were no more bundles, cold and white, Like sheeted bodies, plain to see. And, all on edge, he turned to chide His sister, dragging at his side: But when he found that she was crying, Because her feet and hands were cold, He quite forgot to scold: And spoke kind words of cheer to her: And saw no more dead shepherds lying In any snowy clump of heather. So, hand in hand, they trudged together, Through that strange world of drifting gloam, Sharp-set and longing sore for home. And John remembered how that morning When they set out, the sky was blue -- Clean, cloudless blue; and gave no warning; And how through air as clear as glass, The far-off hills he knew Looked strangely near, and glittered brightly; Each sprig of heath and blade of grass In the cold wind blowing lightly, Each clump of green and crimson moss Sparkling in the wintry sun. But now as they toiled home, across These unfamiliar fells, nigh done, The wind again began to blow; And thicker, thicker fell the snow: Till Janey sank, too numb to stir: When John stooped down, and lifted her, To carry her upon his back. And then his head began to tire: And soon he seemed to lose the track... And now the world was all afire... Now dazzling white, now dazzling black... And then, through some strange land of light, Where clouds of butterflies all white, Fluttered and flickered all about, Dancing ever in and out, He wandered, blinded by white wings, That rustled, rustled in his ears With cold, uncanny whisperings... And then it seemed his bones must crack With that dead weight upon his back... When, on his cheek, he felt warm tears, And a cold tangle of wet hair; And knew 'twas Janey weeping there: And, taking heart, he stumbled on, While in his breast the hearthlight shone: And it was all of his desire To sit once more before the fire; And feel the friendly glowing heat. But as he strove with fumbling feet, It seemed that he would never find Again that cheery hearth and kind; But wander ever, bent and blind, Beneath his burden through the night Of dreadful, spangly, whispering white. The wind rose; and the dry snow drifted In little eddies round the track: And when, at last, the dark cloud rifted, He saw a strange lough, lying cold and black, 'Mid unknown, ghostly hills; and knew That they were lost: and once again, The snow closed in: and swept from view The dead black water and strange fells. But still he struggled on: and then, When he seemed climbing up an endless steep, And ever slipping, sliding back, With ankles aching like to crack, And only longed for sleep; He heard a tinkling sound of bells, That kept on ringing, ringing, ringing, Until his dizzy head was singing; And he could think of nothing else: And then it seemed the weight was lifted From off his back; and on the ground His sister stood, while, all around Were giants clad in coats of wool, With big, curled horns, and queer black faces, Who bobbed and curtsied in their places, With blazing eyes and strange grimaces; But never made a sound; Then nearly shook themselves to pieces, Shedding round a smell of warm, wet fleeces: Then one it seemed as if he knew, Looking like the old lame ewe, Began to bite his coat, and pull Till he could hardly stand: its eyes Glowing to a monstrous size, Till they were like a lantern light Burning brightly through the night... When some one stooped from out the sky, To rescue him; and set him high: And he was riding, snug and warm, In some king's chariot through the storm, Without a sound of wheel or hoof -- In some king's chariot, filled with straw, And he would nevermore be cold... And then with wondering eyes he saw Deep caverns of pure burning gold; And knew himself in fairyland: But when he stretched an eager hand To touch the glowing walls, he felt A queer warm puff, as though of fire... And suddenly he smelt The reek of peat; and looking higher, He saw the old, black porridge-kettle Hanging from the cavern roof, Hanging on its own black crook: And he was lying on the settle, While by his side, With tender look, His mother knelt; And he had only one desire In all the world; and t'was to fling His arms about her neck, and hide His happy tears upon her breast. And as to her he closely pressed, He heard his merry father sing: "There was a silly sleepyhead, Who thought he'd like to go to bed: So in a stell he went to sleep, And snored among the other sheep." And then his mother gently said: "Nay, father: do not tease him now: He's quite worn out: and needs a deal Of quiet sleep: and, after all, He brought his sister safe from school." And now he felt her warm tears fall Upon his cheek: and thrilled to feel His father's hand on his hot brow, And hear him say: "The lad's no fool." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BETWEEN THE LINES by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON BREAKFAST by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON FLANNAN ISLE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON FOR G. by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON GERANIUMS by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON LAMENT by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON RETREAT by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON RUPERT BROOKE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON THE GORSE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON THE ICE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON |
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