Christmas poems
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The Burial in the Snow
© Julia A Moore
The people of that party
Lay scattered all around,
Some were frightened, others laughed,
To think it happened so,
That the end of their sleigh ride
Was a burial in the snow.
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire
© George Gordon Byron
These are the themes that claim our plaudits now;
These are the bards to whom the muse must bow;
While Milton, Dryden, Pope, alike forgot,
Resign their hallow'd bays to Walter Scott.
The Pauper's Christmas Carol
© Thomas Hood
Full of drink and full of meat,
On our SAVIOUR'S natal day,
CHARITY'S perennial treat;
Thus I heard a Pauper say:
The Phantom Curate
© William Schwenck Gilbert
A bishop once - I will not name him see -
Annoyed his clergy in the mode conventional;
From pulpit shackles never set them free,
And found a sin where sin was unintentional.
All pleasures ended in abuse auricular -
The Bishop was so terribly particular.
A Song For Christmas
© George MacDonald
Hark, in the steeple the dull bell swinging
Over the furrows ill ploughed by Death!
Hark the bird-babble, the loud lark singing!
Hark, from the sky, what the prophet saith!
Christmas Morning
© Eugene Field
The angel host that sped last night,
Bearing the wondrous news afar,
Came in their ever-glorious flight
Unto a slumbering little star.
The Beech Tree
© Edith Nesbit
MY beautiful beech, your smooth grey coat is trimmed
With letters. Once, each stood for all things dear
Good Friday
© John Keble
Is it not strange, the darkest hour
That ever dawned on sinful earth
Should touch the heart with softer power
For comfort than an angel's mirth?
That to the Cross the mourner's eye should turn
Sooner than where the stars of Christmas burn?
In Memoriam A. H. H.
© Alfred Tennyson
Thou seemest human and divine,
The highest, holiest manhood, thou.
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
I Shall Never Love the Snow Again
© Robert Seymour Bridges
I never shall love the snow again
Since Maurice died:
With corniced drift it blocked the lane,
And sheeted in a desolate plain
The country side.
Merry Stories And Funny Pictures
© Heinrich Hoffmann
When the children have been good,
That is, be it understood,
Good at meal-times, good at play,
Good all night and good all day
They shall have the pretty things
Merry Christmas always brings.
The Farmer's Daughter Cherry
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
The Farmer quit what he was at,
The bee-hive he was smokin':
The End Of The Play
© William Makepeace Thackeray
The play is done; the curtain drops,
Slow falling to the prompter's bell:
William Upson
© Julia A Moore
Come all good people, far and near,
Oh, come and see what you can hear,
It's of a young man, true and brave,
Who is now sleeping in his grave.
A Poets Eightieth Birthday
© Alfred Austin
``He dieth young whom the Gods love,'' was said
By Greek Menander; nor alone by One
The Shepherds Calendar - December-Christmass
© John Clare
Christmass is come and every hearth
Makes room to give him welcome now
Een want will dry its tears in mirth
And crown him wi a holly bough
Merry
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
No one's hangin' stockin's up,
No one's bakin' pie,
No one's lookin' up to see
A new star in the sky.
Christmas: 1915
© Percy MacKaye
Christ! What shall be delivered to the morn
Out of these pangs, if ever indeed another
Morn shall succeed this night, or this vast mother
Survive to know the blood-spent offspring, torn
From her racked flesh?-What splendour from the smother?
What new-wing'd world, or mangled god still-born?
