Christmas poems
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Quintetto
© Thomas Love Peacock
Jack Horner's CHRISTMAS PIE my learned nurse
Interpreted to mean the public purse.
From thence a plum he drew. O happy Horner!
Who would not be ensconced in thy snug corner
The Hand of Glory: The Nurse's Story
© Richard Harris Barham
And now before
That old Woman's door,
Where nought that 's good may be,
Hand in hand
The Murderers stand
By one, by two, by three!
In Memoriam XXX
© Alfred Tennyson
With trembling fingers did we weave
The holly round the Christmas hearth;
Christmas Song
© Bliss William Carman
ABOVE the weary waiting world,
Asleep in chill despair,
There breaks a sound of joyous bells
Upon the frosted air.
Christmas Eve
© Edgar Albert Guest
BACK UP Old Age and Wrinkled Face,
Come, Selfish Grown-Up, quit the place,
How to Accompany The Moon Without Walking
© Conrad Aiken
Harsh, harsh, the maram grass on the salt dune,
seen by the crickets eye against the harbor moon,
anchor-frost and seaward, the lighthouse moon
A Christmas Carol
© Alfred Austin
Hark! In the air, around, above,
The Angelic Music soars and swells,
And, in the Garden that I love,
I hear the sound of Christmas Bells.
The Christmas Of 1888
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Low in the east, against a white, cold dawn,
The black-lined silhouette of the woods was drawn,
And on a wintry waste
Of frosted streams and hillsides bare and brown,
Through thin cloud-films, a pallid ghost looked down,
The waning moon half-faced!
The Three Kings
© Edith Nesbit
WHEN the star in the East was lit to shine
The three kings journeyed to Palestine;
The Pennsylvania Pilgrim
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The Pennsylvania Pilgrim
Never in tenderer quiet lapsed the day
From Pennsylvania's vales of spring away,
Where, forest-walled, the scattered hamlets lay
A Christmas Prayer
© George MacDonald
Loving looks the large-eyed cow,
Loving stares the long-eared ass
Fredman's song no. 10
© Carl Michael Bellman
Drink till after twelve or more,
Live it up with madmen !
Christmas Greeting
© Edgar Albert Guest
I DO not care to wait until the hand of death has smoothed your brow
Before I say what's in my heart, I'd rather tell it to you now.
I'd rather say: "How glad I am to know your cheery voice and smile,"
Than stand and say "how glad I was" in some grief-stricken after-while.
I'd rather shout: "how good you are!" than sniffle out: "how good was he!"
And so I take this Christmas Day to say you have a friend in me.
The Old Books
© Vernon Scannell
They were beautiful, the old books, beautiful I tell you.
You've no idea, you young ones with all those machines;
Christmas
© Sir Walter Scott
The glowing censers, and their rich perfume;
The splendid vestments, and the sounding choir;
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 78
© Alfred Tennyson
Again at Christmas did we weave
The holly round the Christmas hearth;
The silent snow possess'd the earth,
And calmly fell our Christmas-eve:
