Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Until I Wander'd

Until I wander'd through the world
I did not know that even in Bethlehem,
Falls the white, soft snow.
Then I did imagine how
A morning long ago
Reflected light from all the land
Flooded through the door
And lit the spidery rafters
Above the sleeping child
Whose eyes were lifted up to a mother mild.
And such a radiance was around
On ass and munching cow
Some said because
A child was born,
And some because of the snow.

Herbert Read (1893-1968), From Moon's Farm

Published as set to music by Alan Ridout, 1963

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