All Day . . .

All day I have seen snow falling.
In a cold suburb south of the river I saw it,
and pastel patches of pale blue grass beyond it;
acres of trees and arches of houses against it.
All day I have seen snow falling.

All day I have heard birds calling;
against the ordinary noise of talk I heard them,
still they went on as an aeroplane roared past them;
sweet words, sharp words – to us who cannot read them.
All day I have heard birds calling.

All day I have heard doors slamming,
car doors, train doors, front doors of houses closing
as though earth had to hurry in its mistiming,
its lurching fall – minds caterwauling and damning –
all day I have heard doors slamming.

All day I have heard their hope singing,
these same persons, now in courteous thronging
going their parted ways, or to each belonging,
walking, or with hats on their heads sitting and dreaming …
all day I have heard their hope singing.

All day I have seen flags waving
or low in the wind; and dogs’ tails wagging,
and girls’ fair hair shoulder-touching, and scarves flowing,
and people gesticulating, and people laughing:
all day I have seen flags waving.

And I have felt the Earth dying.
In proud loneliness each waits for it to happen:
we sit among advertisements and watch our lives cheapen.
Governors of dust, we will not come out in the open.
And I have felt the Earth dying.

But I have seen God’s light falling,
and the snow and the birds of March their own truth telling
all day as the clocks keep time, and wheels keep turning
south and north of the river into Creation.
The city is lit up now, the day is ending;
But I have seen God’s light falling.