LONDON SNOW

Had I not sometimes wondered what grace was
I might have let this year’s sudden snow—
Hardly here an hour, and then slush
Sluicing down our common drains—
I might have let that moment melt away
Unremembered.
   On a cold afternoon, I lit the fire
Thinking that after a day mostly wasted
I would put the evening to better use.
But what was done with would not go away
And I was pestered by thoughts of what I should do
Tomorrow, the week following, and so
Of what end I was in fact pursuing.
Next door the television mumbled aimlessly,
Footsteps and voices clattered in the street;
I got up and drew the curtains, trying
To shut out a world I had no use for
And let darkness come down upon the day.
     The fire crackled and blazed to begin with,
But after an hour or so, when the flames
Had gone, and the coals were glowing,
I felt a stillness brightening the room
And heard the noises of the street
No longer harsh, subdued in some respect.
    Then I looked out again, though it was dark,
And there was the snow, smooth and white
On rooftops and gutters, road and pavement
All quiet, all softly glowing
In the orange darkness of the city sky;
The flakes were thickly falling still
Floating steadily down out of the night
Settling onto ledges, doorsteps and sills,
Swirling ablaze around the streetlamps
Everywhere merging to make a scene
In which all seemed changed, all remade.
And gazing down from my window then
I wanted to share that making, and had
An impulse outward that felt like love,
Drawing me back to a world I’d lost.
    But what could I do? Puzzled then
I did not know, and do not now. All I knew
Was that for one surprising hour
I was touched by a power
Binding image and idea
Giving what I had thought merely a word
Substance from a world I had thought wordless.