In dead of dark to the starry North St. Nicholas drew near; He had ranged the World this wintry night, His elk-bells jangling clear. Now bitter-worn with age was he, And weary of Mankind, for few Had shown him love or courtesy. His sacks lay empty -- all save one; And this to his affright Stirred as he stopped with fingers numb, Ablaze with hoar-frost bright. Aghast he stood. Showed fumbling thumb, Small shoulder, a wing: What stowaway Was this, and whence was't come? And out there crept a lovely Thing -- Half angel and half child: -- 'I, youngest of all Heaven, am here, To be thy Joy,' he smiled. 'O Nicholas, our Master Christ Thy grief hath seen; and He Hath bidden me come to keep His tryst, And bring His love to thee; To serve thee well, and sing, Nowell, And thine own son to be.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: THE COWARD by RUDYARD KIPLING CATAWBA WINE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE DISMANTLED SHIP by WALT WHITMAN MISAPPELLATION by STEPHANIE L. BINCKLI THE HAUNTED HOUSE by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |