‘Snow’, a poem by Louis MacNeice (1907 – 1963)

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay‑window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.

World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.

And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes –
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands –
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

Yet another fine poem by this well‑known poet from Belfast.

In Cardiff, a splendid small capital city where I have lived since 1960, snow is something people mostly read about - the real thing is generally a once in a generation experience.
That being so, it would be difficult indeed to find a better introduction to the white wonder from the sky than this little masterpiece...

The Poetry of Things