YESTERDAY the merchant-men Slew an army of young trees, All for the benedicts With children at their knees; But none for the bachelors: I am one of these. Patter, patter 'round the world, From the early dawn Children's feet will tramp my heart Till this day is gone -- All last night their diamond eyes Through my dreaming shone. Every whiff of evergreen On the scented air Tells my heart what might have been Had a word been fair: Twenty winters old to-night Is my soul's despair. Turkey has a lonely taste, On the Christmas Day, Without loving hands to baste All the loneliness away. Was he jesting -- he who placed On this card a holly spray? To the waitress: "Bring me, Miss, Christmas dinner, table d'hote." But I'd rather order this: Two young arms about my throat, Little rosebuds in a kiss, Fingers tugging at my coat. Few are here to-night to dine: Thank for that the god of Fate! "Merry Christmas" on a sign Does not ease this crash of plate Or the winter winds that whine At the slowly-swinging gate. Comes a ghostly merchant-man: "Here, my lad, 's your evergreen; Weight it with the gay things From the Might Have Been. Even in this hueless place It will have a lovely sheen." I hung it with the broken words Of a thoughtless maid, I lit a censer of her smiles And saw the slim smoke fade In fear of that cold crash of glass And metal serenade. I took a rose, that once she wore, And a gown of lovely gray, And hung them high and for a while My heart was very gay; And all our unborn children laughed About me in their play. Crash of silver, smash of plate, And the vision is no more: Long, white tables, cold, sedate, And the slowly-swinging door -- Mock accoutrements of state Of a lonely bachelor. Yet to-night had held for me All for which my spirit longs: Little children at my knee Chanting me their joys and wrongs -- All were mine had I not given To my land a hundred songs. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN I WROTE A LITTLE by HAYDEN CARRUTH FINALITY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE STARLING; SONNET by AMY LOWELL TUOL SLENG: POL POT'S PRISON by KAREN SWENSON WOMAN, GALLUP, N.M. by KAREN SWENSON |