Dear readers, I wish you all happy holidays. Enjoy the following poem.
“A Visit to Saint Nicholas” by Clement Clarke Moore.
“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when not a creature, not even a mouse, moved through the house; / the stockings were carefully hung by the chimney, / in the hope that Santa would soon be; / the children were snuggled up in their beds, / while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads, / and mamma just settled in our ‘scarf’ in a long scarf, and I / When outside on the lawn there was such a clapping, / I jumped out of bed to see what was happening / I flew to the window like lightning, / Tore the shutters and threw out the window sash / The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow / Gave a noonday shine to the objects below, / When, what should appear to my little, old, miniature, miniature driver / But a miniature sigh appears again. so brisk and quick, / In a moment I knew that it must be Saint Nick / Faster than the eagles came, / And he shouted and called them by name / Like dry leaves that fly before a wild hurricane, / When they meet an obstacle, mountains to the sky / So up to the house-top they flew, / And then on a sled, on a sled full, Nicholas / I heard; The leaping and scratching of each little hoof / As I drew in my head and turned with, / down the chimney came Nicholas with a bundle / He was dressed all in fur, from head to foot, / And his clothes were ashes and soot / A pile of toys on his back, / how his eyes opened cheerfully / His face was like a rose, his nose was like a cherry / His little mouth was drawn out like a bow / And his beard was a pipe that he held tightly in his teeth, / And smoke surrounded him like wreath. / He had a broad, round face. / A chubby, right jolly old elf, / And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of himself / A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, / He soon let me know I had nothing to fear / He didn’t say a word, but went straight to his work, / And he filled all the stockings, / He lifted / his finger up / He jumped on his sledge, / And they all flew away like the fluff of a thistle, / But I heard him cry before he was out of sight, / ‘Merry Christmas to all, and good night to all.'”
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