Christmas poems
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In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 30
© Alfred Tennyson
With trembling fingers did we weave
The holly round the Christmas hearth;
A rainy cloud possess'd the earth,
And sadly fell our Christmas-eve.
Miscegenation
© Natasha Trethewey
In 1965 my parents broke two laws of Mississippi;
they went to Ohio to marry, returned to Mississippi.
More Sonnets At Christmas I
© Allen Tate
Suppose I take an arrogant bomber, stroke
By stroke, up to the frazzled sun to hear
Sun-ghostlings whisper: Yes, the capital yoke-
Remove it and there's not a ghost to fear
This crucial day, whose decapitate joke
Languidly winds into the inner ear.
Autumn Wealth
© Kristijonas Donelaitis
Of course, there is no lack of faithful Christians ,too.
Most of Lithuanians are men of good character;
They love their families, obey the will of God.
Each day live saintly lives, steer clear of all misdeeds,
And rule their modest homes with kind parental care.
For Christmas Day
© Charles Wesley
Hark, how all the welkin rings,
"Glory to the King of kings;
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconcil'd!"
Grandpa's Christmas
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
In his great cushioned chair by the fender
An old man sits dreaming to-night,
The war Widow
© Alfred Noyes
Black-veiled, black-gowned, she rides in bus and train,
With eyes that fill too listlessly for tears.
Her waxen hands clasp and unclasp again.
_Good News_, they cry. She neither sees nor hears.
The House of Christmas
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
The Men Who Stuck To Me
© Henry Lawson
Some I never met and never knew their great but vain endeavour,
For my sake! And some were old mates whom I never more may see;
Never heard me, some I talked with; never saw me, some I walked with;
Blind and deaf, and dumb and foreign were the men who stuck to me.
The Swagman and His Mate
© Henry Lawson
I hope theyll find the squatter white,
The cook and shearers straight,
When they have reached the shed to-night
The swagman and his mate.
At Christmas
© Edgar Albert Guest
A man is at his finest towards the finish of the year;
He is almost what he should be when the Christmas season's here;
The Maids Of Attitash
© John Greenleaf Whittier
In sky and wave the white clouds swam,
And the blue hills of Nottingham
Through gaps of leafy green
Across the lake were seen,
On Lending a Punch-Bowl
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
This ancient silver bowl of mine, it tells of good old times,
Of joyous days and jolly nights, and merry Christmas times;
They were a free and jovial race, but honest, brave, and true,
Who dipped their ladle in the punch when this old bowl was new.
The White Ship Henry I. Of England.25th November 1120
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
By none but me can the tale be told,
The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold.
The Raven. Christmas Tale, Told By A School-Boy To His Little Brothers And Sisters
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet,
And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet,
And he thank'd him again and again for this treat:
They had taken his all; and Revenge it was sweet!
The Ring And The Book - Chapter IV - Tertium Quid
© Robert Browning
Is so far clear? You know Violante now,
Compute her capability of crime
By this authentic instance? Black hard cold
Crime like a stone you kick up with your foot
I the middle of a field?
A Hymn For Christmas Morning
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
IT is the Christmas time:
And up and down 'twixt heaven and earth,
In glorious grief and solemn mirth,
The shining angels climb.
