helenwyler
15-Nov-07, 09:55
St. Agnes’ Eve - Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
Numb were the Beadsman’s fingers, while he told
His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,
Seem’d taking flight for heaven, without a death,
Past the sweet Virgin’s picture, while his prayer he saith.
First stanza from The Eve of St Agnes, Keats
It was -4 degrees here last night. Very bright and frosty now. I always remember this stanza when the waether's like this. We did Keats for A level at school!
http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Eve_of_St._Agnes for the whole poem.
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
Numb were the Beadsman’s fingers, while he told
His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,
Seem’d taking flight for heaven, without a death,
Past the sweet Virgin’s picture, while his prayer he saith.
First stanza from The Eve of St Agnes, Keats
It was -4 degrees here last night. Very bright and frosty now. I always remember this stanza when the waether's like this. We did Keats for A level at school!
http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Eve_of_St._Agnes for the whole poem.