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"I will hold Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year." - Charles Dickens.

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Christmas Poetry

Santa Claus

    He comes in the night! He comes in the night!
      He softly, silently comes,
    While the little brown heads on the pillows so white
      Are dreaming of bugles and drums.
    He cuts thro' the snow like a ship thro' the foam,
      While the white flakes 'round him whirl.
    Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home
      Of each good little boy and girl.

    His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide;
      It will carry a host of things,
    While dozens of drums hang over the side,
      With the sticks sticking under the strings.
    And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,
      Not a bugle blast is blown,
    As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,
      And drops to the hearth like stone.

    The little red stockings he silently fills,
      Till the stockings will hold no more;
    The bright little sleds for the great snow hills
      Are quickly set down on the floor.
    Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird,
      And glides to his seat in the sleigh;
    Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard
      As he noiselessly gallops away.

    Anonymous 1880

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