The Turn of the Tide Breathless was the air over Bethlehem; black and bare The fields; hard as granite were the clods; Hedges stiff with ice; the sedge, in the vice Of the ponds, like little iron rods. The deathly stillness spread from Bethlehem; it was shed Wider each moment on the land; Through rampart and wall into camp and into hall Stole the hush. All tongues were at a stand. Travellers at their beer in taverns turned to hear... Read more







