LITTLE Penelope Socrates, A Boston maid of four, Wide opened her eyes on Christmas morn, And looked the landscape o'er. "What is it inflates my @3bas de bleu?"@1 She asked with dignity; "'Tis Ibsen in the original! Oh, joy beyond degree!" Miss Mary Cadwallader Rittenhouse Of Philadelphia town, Awoke as much as they ever do there And watched the snow come down. "I'm glad that it is Christmas," You might have heard her say, "For my family is one year older now Than it was last Christmas day." 'Twas Christmas in giddy Gotham, And Miss Irene de Jones Awoke at noon and yawned and yawned, And stretched her languid bones. "I'm sorry it is Christmas, Papa at home will stay, For 'Change is closed and he won't make A single cent to-day." Windily dawned the Christmas On the city by the lake, And Miss Arabel Wabash Breezy Was instantly awake. "What's that thing in my stocking? Well, in two jiffs I'll know!" And she drew a grand piano forth From 'way down in the toe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A GAGE D'AMOUR by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON THE SCHRECKHORN by THOMAS HARDY IN TIME OF GRIEF by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE THE MORAL FABLES: THE FOX AND THE WOLF by AESOP SPRING IS NOT THE ASH by MARVIN BARRETT THE ZONNEBEKE ROAD by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE EARTH AND MAN by STOPFORD AUGUSTUS BROOKE |