When I was asleep the snow came flying.
Stealthily and perpetually settling and lying.
The gusty winds made unevenness even.
And the dawn broke with full inches eleven.
It lay in its depth of its uncompacted lightness . . .
and my eyes marvelled at the dazzling whiteness.
A riot of drifts plunging up to my knees. . .
Look at the trees, oh, look at the trees!
And now I'll wage war on the waiting snow,
and sniff for somewhere private to go.
Then slowly homeward I am bound
Betting my last efforts will never be found.
shovelled out of Robert Bridges' London Snow