Morning and night I found White snow upon the ground, And on the tragic well Grey ice had cast its spell. A dearth of wood and coal Lay heavy on my soul. My garden was a scene Of weeds and nettles green, My window-panes had holes Through which, all night, lost souls Peered from the desert road, And starved cocks faintly crowed. My path of cinders black Had an abundant lack Of visitors, till time Bade us with boxes climb The train that hurries on To old warm Paddington. |