Share:
  Guess poet | Poets | Poets timeline | Isles | Contacts

Charles Causley - At Nine Of The NightCharles Causley - At Nine Of The Night
Work rating: Medium


At nine of the night I opened my door That stands midway between moor and moor, And all around me, silver-bright, I saw that the world had turned to white. Thick was the snow on field and hedge And vanished was the river-sedge, Where winter skilfully had wound A shining scarf without a sound. And as I stood and gazed my fill A stable-boy came down the hill. With every step I saw him take Flew at his heel a puff of flake. His brow was whiter than the hoar, A beard of freshest snow he wore, And round about him, snowflake starred, A red horse-blanket from the yard. In a red cloak I saw him go, His back was bent, his step was slow, And as he laboured through the cold He seemed a hundred winters old. I stood and watched the snowy head, The whiskers white, the cloak of red. `A Merry Christmas!` I heard him cry. `The same to you, old friend,` said I.
Source

The script ran 0.001 seconds.