On the Eve of St. Thomas

On the Eve of Saint Thomas So innocent was the grass Of footfall, of nightfall, In its silver rind That it came to my mind How rightful to consider Is the date of Christmas Between the first doubter And the first martyr.

Shove, Thomas! Push darkness away from us. And pull, Steven! Haul down more light from heaven.

So solemnly the sky Carried the moon’s majesty Through a mist of hoar-frost, As through a transparency Of earthly-veiled heavenly That I thought of Our Lady Being so far gone That the child in her belly Shone like the full moon.

Endure, sweet Lady, To the end of the journey! And yet-awhile lie patient, O Maker omnipotent! From “Sylvia Townsend Warner: Selected Poems” (Viking: $14.95; 96 pp.; 0-670-80850-4). Well-known as a short-story writer, Warner (1893-1978) was admired in her early years for her poetry by W. B. Yeats, A. E. Housman and others. Her poetry passed out of print, however; and as a poet she was all but forgotten when her “Collected Poems” was published to sudden acclaim in 1982. Richard Howard, writing in Nation magazine, called her “a poet of great and consistent achievement.” This volume, edited by Claire Harman, is a selection from Warner’s five published collections. In the calendar of the saints, the Feast of St. Thomas the Doubter comes on December 24th, that of St. Steven, the first martyr, on December 26th. Susanna Pinney and William Maxwell, executors of the estate of Sylvia Townsend Warner. Reprinted by permission of Viking Press.