What a night! The wind howls, hisses, and but stops <br />To howl more loud, while the snow volley keeps <br />Incessant batter at the window pane, <br />Making our comfort feel as sweet again; <br />And in the morning, when the tempest drops, <br />At every cottage door mountainous heaps <br />Of snow lie drifted, that all entrance stops <br />Untill the beesom and the shovel gain <br />The path, and leave a wall on either side. <br />The shepherd rambling valleys white and wide <br />With new sensations his old memory fills, <br />When hedges left at night, no more descried, <br />Are turned to one white sweep of curving hills, <br />And trees turned bushes half their bodies hide. <br /> <br />The boy that goes to fodder with surprise <br />Walks oer the gate he opened yesternight. <br />The hedges all have vanished from his eyes; <br />Een some tree tops the sheep could reach to bite. <br />The novel scene emboldens new delight, <br />And, though with cautious steps his sports begin, <br />He bolder shuffles the huge hills of snow, <br />Till down he drops and plunges to the chin, <br />And struggles much and oft escape to win-- <br />Then turns and laughs but dare not further go; <br />For deep the grass and bushes lie below, <br />Where little birds that soon at eve went in <br />With heads tucked in their wings now pine for day <br />And little feel boys oer their heads can stray.<br /><br />John Clare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/snow-storm-6/
