Jingle of bell and clattering hoof And shouts borne down the blast, And muffled sounds from the snowy roof While the winter wind sweeps past; And sleepy eyes grow big and round, And breaths are hushed at each mystic sound While childish hearts beat fast. The flick'ring flames, as they crack and glow, Peep up the chimney wide, And whisper then to the ghostly row Of stockings side by side. The eight-day clock, where it stands in state, Holds fast its breath in the silent wait For the king of Christmas-tide. The days slip by of those happy times; The paths we trod of yore To the fairyland of the nurse's rhymes Are barred by a closing door. And we smile at the tales of a year ago As childhood's truths into fables grow; And lost is our goblin lore. But yet to-day from the mantel-shelf The stockings greet our eyes, And our faith in the jolly Christmas Elf On firm foundation lies. For we see in merry lurking there A father's love or a mother's care Hid under the quaint disguise. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A POEM FROM THE EDGE OF AMERICA by JAMES GALVIN RECOMPENSE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 5. MARYLAND by CLARENCE MAJOR EARTH IS ENOUGH by EDWIN MARKHAM DOMESDAY BOOK: DR. TRACE TO THE CORONER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |