A Feel In The Chris'mas-Air

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They's a kind o' _feel_ in the air, to me.
  When the Chris'mas-times sets in.
That's about as much of a mystery
  As ever I've run ag'in!--
Fer instunce, now, whilse I gain in weight
  And gineral health, I swear
They's a _goneness_ somers I can't quite state--
  A kind o' _feel_ in the air.

They's a feel in the Chris'mas-air goes right
  To the spot where a man _lives_ at!--
It gives a feller a' appetite--
  They ain't no doubt about _that_!--
And yit they's _somepin_'--I don't know what--
  That follers me, here and there,
And ha'nts and worries and spares me not--
  A kind o' feel in the air!

They's a _feel_, as I say, in the air that's jest
  As blame-don sad as sweet!--
In the same ra-sho as I feel the best
  And am spryest on my feet,
They's allus a kind o' sort of a' _ache_
  That I can't lo-cate no-where;--
But it comes with _Chris'mas_, and no mistake!--
  A kind o' feel in the air.

Is it the racket the childern raise?--
  W'y, _no_!--God bless 'em!--_no_!--
Is it the eyes and the cheeks ablaze--
  Like my _own_ wuz, long ago?--
Is it the bleat o' the whistle and beat
  O' the little toy-drum and blare
O' the horn?--_No! no!_--it is jest the sweet--
  The sad-sweet feel in the air.

© James Whitcomb Riley