The Well Read Poem

As befits the time of year, we are reading six poems of Advent and Christmas during this re-airing of the fourteenth season of the Well-Read Poem. We have selected certain familiar ones, which may yet contain certain surprises in their authorship and composition history, as well as some less well-known pieces which we hope will help you better enjoy the late days of the year leading up to the great Feast of the Nativity of Christ the Lord. 
Today's poem is "Christmas" by John Betjeman. Reading begins at timestamp 5:47.
Christmas
by John Betjeman
The bells of waiting Advent ring,
The Tortoise stove is lit again
And lamp-oil light across the night
Has caught the streaks of winter rain
In many a stained-glass window sheen
From Crimson Lake to Hookers Green.

The holly in the windy hedge
And round the Manor House the yew
Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge,
The altar, font and arch and pew,
So that the villagers can say
'The church looks nice' on Christmas Day.

Provincial Public Houses blaze,
Corporation tramcars clang,
On lighted tenements I gaze,
Where paper decorations hang,
And bunting in the red Town Hall
Says 'Merry Christmas to you all'.

And London shops on Christmas Eve
Are strung with silver bells and flowers
As hurrying clerks the City leave
To pigeon-haunted classic towers,
And marbled clouds go scudding by
The many-steepled London sky.

And girls in slacks remember Dad,
And oafish louts remember Mum,
And sleepless children's hearts are glad.
And Christmas-morning bells say 'Come!'
Even to shining ones who dwell
Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.

And is it true? And is it true,
This most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,
A Baby in an ox's stall?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Become a Child on earth for me?

And is it true? For if it is,
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
The sweet and silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so kindly meant,

No love that in a family dwells,
No carolling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single Truth compare -
That God was man in Palestine
And lives today in Bread and Wine.

As befits the time of year, we will be reading six poems of Advent and Christmas during this season of the Well-Read Poem, which is a re-airing of episodes from Season 14. We have selected certain familiar ones, which may yet contain certain surprises in their authorship and composition history, as well as some less well-known pieces which we hope will help you better enjoy the late days of the year leading up to the great Feast of the Nativity of Christ the Lord. 
Today's poem is "Noël" by Théophile Gautier in translation by Agnes Lee. Reading begins at timestamps 5:15 and 7:00.
Noël (Christmas)
by Théophile Gautier, trans. by Agnes Lee
Black is the sky and white the ground.
O ring, ye bells, your carol's grace!
The Child is born! A love profound
Beams o'er Him from His Mother's face.
No silken woof of costly show
Keeps off the bitter cold from Him.
But spider-webs have drooped them low,
To be His curtain soft and dim.
Now trembles on the straw downspread
The Little Child, the Star beneath.
To warm Him in His holy bed,
Upon Him ox and ass do breathe.
Snow hangs its fringes on the byre.
The roof stands open to the tryst
Of aureoled saints, that sweetly choir
To shepherds, "Come, behold the Christ!"

As befits the time of year, we will be reading six poems of Advent and Christmas. This series is a re-airing of episodes from Season 14.  We have selected certain familiar poems, which may yet contain certain surprises in their authorship and composition history, as well as some less well-known pieces which we hope will help you better enjoy the late days of the year leading up to the great Feast of the Nativity of Christ the Lord. 
Today's poem is "Good King Wenceslas" by Vaclav Svoboda in translation by John Mason Neale. Reading begins at timestamp 6:53.
Good King Wenceslas
by Vaclav Svoboda, translation by John Mason Neale
Good King Wenceslas look'd out,
    On the Feast of Stephen;
When the snow lay round about,
    Deep, and crisp, and even:
Brightly shone the moon that night,
    Though the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight,
    Gath'ring winter fuel.
 
"Hither page and stand by me,
    If thou know'st it, telling,
Yonder peasant, who is he?
    Where and what his dwelling?"
"Sire, he lives a good league hence.
    Underneath the mountain;
Right against the forest fence,
    By Saint Agnes' fountain."
 
"Bring me flesh,and bring me wine,
    Bring me pine-logs hither:
Thou and I will see him dine,
    When we bear them thither."
Page and monarch forth they went,
    Forth they went together;
Through the rude wind's wild lament,
    And the bitter weather.
 
"Sire, the night is darker now,
    And the wind blows stronger;
Fails my heart, I know not how,
    I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsteps, good my page;
    Tread thou in them boldly;
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
    Freeze thy blood less coldly."
 
In his master's steps he trod,
    Where the snow lay dinted;
Heat was in the very sod
    Which the Saint had printed.
Therefore, Christian men, be sure,
    Wealth or rank possessing,
Ye who now will bless the poor,
    Shall yourselves find blessing.

As befits the time of year, we will be reading six poems of Advent and Christmas. This series is a re-airing of episodes from Season 14. We have selected certain familiar ones, which may yet contain certain surprises in their authorship and composition history, as well as some less well-known pieces which we hope will help you better enjoy the late days of the year leading up to the great Feast of the Nativity of Christ the Lord. 
Today's poem is "Christmas Carol" by Sara Teasdale. Reading begins at timestamps 4:49 and 7:48.
Christmas Carol
by Sara Teasdale
The kings they came from out the south,
   All dressed in ermine fine;
They bore Him gold and chrysoprase,
   And gifts of precious wine.
 
The shepherds came from out the north,
   Their coats were brown and old;
They brought Him little new-born lambs—
   They had not any gold.
 
The wise men came from out the east,
   And they were wrapped in white;
The star that led them all the way
   Did glorify the night.
 
The angels came from heaven high,
   And they were clad with wings;
And lo, they brought a joyful song
   The host of heaven sings.
 
The kings they knocked upon the door,
   The wise men entered in,
The shepherds followed after them
   To hear the song begin.
 
The angels sang through all the night
   Until the rising sun,
But little Jesus fell asleep
   Before the song was done.

As befits the time of year, we will be re-visiting six poems of Advent and Christmas during this twentieth season of the Well-Read Poem. We have selected certain familiar ones, which may yet contain certain surprises in their authorship and composition history, as well as some less well-known pieces which we hope will help you better enjoy the late days of the year leading up to the great Feast of the Nativity of Christ the Lord. 
Today's poem is "Mistletoe" by Walter de la Mare. Reading begins at timestamps 5:23 and 8:10.
Mistletoe
by Walter de la Mare
Sitting under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
One last candle burning low,
All the sleepy dancers gone,
Just one candle burning on,
Shadows lurking everywhere:
Some one came, and kissed me there.
 
Tired I was; my head would go
Nodding under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
No footsteps came, no voice, but only,
Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,
Stooped in the still and shadowy air
Lips unseen—and kissed me there.
 
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