ALL in the night when sleeping I lay in slumber's chain, The Christmas Babe came weeping Outside my window-pane. The Christmas Child whom faithless Men turn from their hearthstone — My dream was dumb and breathless, The Christmas Babe made moan. The small hands beat impatient Upon my close-locked door, The small hands that have fashioned The world, the stars, and more. He heard no sound of coming, His cries broke wild and keen, The Christmas Babe went roaming For one to take Him in. A burning bush of splendor Enfolds the Christmas Child, Like some meek bird and tender, In gold thorns undefiled. I listen long to hear Him Come crying at my door. Voices of night I fear them, And He comes by no more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY [DECEMBER 16, 1773] by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES UNDER THE VIOLETS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES VICTOR GALBRAITH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW A CANADIAN BOAT SONG; WRITTEN ON THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE by THOMAS MOORE THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY THE BABYLONIAN HORDES by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 82. HOARDED JOY by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE CALIPH'S DRAUGHT by EDWIN ARNOLD MORE WALKS by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: SACRIFICE SELF-COMPENSATED by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |