The Snow Globe

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Written by Eshaan Patel

This is a poem written in Middle English. At the time, letters such as j, v, z, and x were not in common use, and the letter y was completely different from today: always a vowel representing a sound resembling an "oo" and "ee" sound made at once. To aid in your pronunciation, note that all letters are pronounced ("knight" is pronounced "kneekht"), and the rhyme scheme is AABB. Þþ is a letter making the "th" sound, and Ȝȝ is a letter making the "gh" sound (actually pronounced). The long s ſ is an alternative form of the letter s. "Wh" makes the "hw" sound, and what seems to be a silent e at the end of words is pronounced "uh".

Þe ſnow fell from þe ſky;

Þrouȝ þe morning and þrouȝ þe nyȝt;

Covred in whyte is þe grounde;

As whyte as þe porcelaine of þe palace.

From þe þin air ſome reinder be upwallen;

Next to me þey ſit unmoving, not besmallen.

An red, olde, miri, gledien man upwallen too;

Likenen to þis glommen ik look'd þouȝ.

Me þe reinder haþ walken to wiþ glee;

"Þou art begrimen by þe ſnow," ſede him happiliche;

Whan agen unwréon'd is þe man not uncouth;

Ænd word haþ beleuen his mouth:

"How, how, how!

Here is þe place where þou hast wended to!

To have freolsen, despyt þe ſtalworþest wind;

Þe one as great as þose whom þe ſtorms of  ſoudly Muscovy dolte wiþ, that kind."

"Mi name is Saint Nicholaus," ſede he wiþ gly;

Þe ſnow was still falling ſlowly;

Hir reed hat turn'd into an pyle of flakes,

Frozen was what wit ſtood on: an lake.

Ik stalk'd ov'r þe crystal;

But al it did was aual,

Unfaſtened it was, in to þe abyſs falling;

Ik almoſt too, but occurred an upwalling;

Þe man was freolsen once more,

To free me from þis bore,

Breken þe glas he did,

Gowne was þe tyne cote, as to what he did.

An gyrle ſat in þe corner acrien;

But þe man haþ oþer plans dev'lopen;

Lytree venuſt boyſte haþ apered;

Lyȝts bryȝtliche aſchine ahede.

Ik was enliȝten'd wiþout curry favel;

Open'd by the gyrle was a ſet for tavel.

Woden's þank kept me enduren;

And whyte glew haþ the cracks pleniſsen.

Ond once agen dreȝen may be my lyfe,

And in þis glasbal ik willen fynd no wyfe.

Ev'n as wit were tuck'd in to þe closet;

I culd continue wiþ mi companiye in hit.