As of some unproved right, the snow
Settles the outer suburbs now,
Laying its claim unhurriedly
On gnome and monkey-puzzle-tree.
Observe its power to shape and build,
Even in this unfruitful world,
Its white informal fantasies,
From roofs and paths and rockeries.
And swayed by such soft moods, I fall
Into forgiving nearly all
The aspirations of the place,
And what it does to save its face:
The calm and dutiful obsession
With what is “best in our position”,
The loyal and realistic views,
The rush-hours with the Evening News—
The snow fulfils its pure design
And softens every ugly line,
And for a while will exorcize
These virulent proprieties.