SO, Christmas is here again! -- While the house sleeps, quiet as death, 'Neath the midnight moon comes the Waits' shrill tune, And we listen and hold our breath. The Christmas that never was -- On this foggy November air, With clear pale gleam, like the ghost of a dream, It is painted everywhere. The Christmas that might have been -- It is borne in the far-off sound, Down the empty street, with the tread of feet That lie silent underground. The Christmas that yet may be -- Like the Bethlehem star, leads kind: Yet our life slips past, hour by hour, fast, fast, Few before -- and many behind. The Christmas we have and hold, With a tremulous tender strain, Half joy, half fears -- Be the psalm of the years, "Grief passes, blessings remain!" The Christmas that sure will come, Let us think of, at fireside fair; -- When church bells sound o'er one small green mound, Which the neighbors pass to prayer. The Christmas that God will give, -- Long after all these are o'er, When is day nor night, for the LAMB is our Light, And we live forevermore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHANSON INNOCENTE: 1, FR. TULIPS by EDWARD ESTLIN CUMMINGS INDIAN WOMAN'S DEATH-SONG by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS TO THINK OF TIME by WALT WHITMAN DAWN ON THE HILLS (FROM A HOTEL WINDOW) by LILLIAN ATCHERSON |