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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=336447" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The View From An Attic Window</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1 <br>Among the high-branching, leafless boughs <br>Above the roof-peaks of the town, <br>Snowflakes unnumberably come down. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I watched out of the attic window <br>The laced sway of family trees, <br>Intricate genealogies </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whose strict, reserved gentility, <br>Trembling, impossible to bow, <br>Received the appalling fall of snow. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">All during Sunday afternoon, <br>Not storming, but befittingly, <br>Out of a still, grey, devout sky, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The snowflakes fell, until all shapes <br>Went under, and thickening, drunken lines <br>Cobwebbed the sleep of solemn pines. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Up in the attic, among many things <br>Inherited and out of style, <br>I cried, then fell asleep awhile, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Waking at night now, as the snow- <br>flakes from darkness to darkness go <br>Past yellow lights in the street below. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">2 <br>I cried because life is hopeless and beautiful. <br>And like a child I cried myself to sleep <br>High in the head of the house, feeling the hull <br>Beneath me pitch and roll among the steep <br>Mountains and valleys of the many years <br>That brought me to tears. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Down in the cellar, furnace and washing machine, <br>Pump, fuse-box, water heater, work their hearts <br>Out at my life, which narrowly runs between <br>Them and this cemetery of spare parts <br>For discontinued men, whose hats and canes <br>Are my rich remains. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And women, their portraits and wedding gowns <br>Stacked in the corners, brooding in wooden trunks; <br>And children’s rattles, books about lions and clowns; <br>And headless, hanging dresses swayed like drunks <br>Whenever a living footstep shakes the floor; <br>I mention no more; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But what I thought today, that made me cry, <br>Is this, that we live in two kinds of thing: <br>The powerful trees, thrusting into the sky <br>Their black patience, are one, and that branching <br>Relation teaches how we endure and grow; <br>The other is the snow, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Falling in a white chaos from the sky, <br>As many as the sands of all the seas, <br>As all the men who died or who will die, <br>As stars in heaven, as leaves of all the trees; <br>As Abraham was promised of his seed; <br>Generations bleed, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Till I, high in the tower of my time <br>Among familiar ruins, began to cry <br>For accident, sickness, justice, war and crime, <br>Because all died, because I had to die. <br>The snow fell, the trees stood, the promise kept, <br>And a child I slept.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Howard+Nemerov">Howard Nemerov</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=336447" data-title="The View From An Attic Window de Howard Nemerov" data-description="1 /Among the high-branching, leafless boughs /Above the roof-peaks of the town, /Snowflakes unnumberably come down. /I watched out of the attic window /The laced sway of family trees, /Intricate genealogies /Whose strict, reserved gentility, /Trem..."></div>
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