Author: Dale

From “Stocking Song on Christmas Eve” by Mary Mapes Dodge in Christmas Bells are Ringing: A Treasury of Christmas Poetry, selected by Sara and John E. Brewton:

Welcome, Christmas! heel and toe,
Here we wait thee in a row.
Come, good Santa Claus, we beg, —
Fill us tightly, foot and leg.

Fill us quickly ere you go, —
Fill us till we overflow.
That’s the way! and leave us more
Heaped in piles upon the floor.

Little feet that ran all day
Twitch in dreams of merry play;
Little feet that jumped at will
Lie all pink, and warm, and still.

See us, how we lightly swing;
Hear us, how we try to sing.
Welcome, Christmas! heel and toe,
Come and fill us ere you go.

Here we hang till some one nimbly
Jumps with treasure down the chimney.
Bless us! how he’ll tickle us!
Funny old St. Nicholas!

From “Christmas Stocking” by Eleanor Farjeon in Jingle Bells: Poems for Christmas, chosen by Gaby Morgan:

What will go into the Christmas Stocking
While the clock on the mantelpiece goes
tick-tocking?

An orange, a penny,
Some sweets, not too many,
A trumpet, a dolly,
A sprig of red holly,
A book and a top
And a grocery shop,
Some beads in a box,
An ass and an ox
And a lamb, plain and good,
All whittled in wood,
A white sugar dove,
A handful of love,
Another of fun,
And it’s very near done —
A big silver star
On top — there you are!

Come morning you’ll wake to the clock’s
tick-tocking,
And that’s what you’ll find in the Christmas
Stocking.

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From “The Christmas Fox” in The Christmas Fox and Other Winter Poems by John Bush:

O Father Christmas! You don’t look the same
As the jolly, round fellow who goes by that name.
Where’s your white beard? Your face is so sly.
There’s a point to your ears and a glint in your eye.

And what of your sack? A turkey’s no toy!
Hardly the gift for a girl or a boy.
No black boots. No snowy locks.
You’re not Father Christmas,
You’re O’ Farley the Fox!

But O’ Farley just smiles as on through the snow
He toils and trudges, ever so slow.
His sack bows his back and the strain has him hobbling,
But he smiles for he knows just who’ll do the gobbling.

From “Our Joyful Feast” by George Wither in Treasury of Christmas Ideas, and a Selection of Favorite Stories, Poems, and Carols, published by Meredith Press:

So, now is come our joyful feast,
Let every man be jolly:
Each room with ivy leaves is drest,
And every post with holly.
Though some churls at our mirth repine,
Round your foreheads garlands twine;
Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,
And let us all be merry.

Now all our neighbour’s chimnies smoke,
And Christmas logs are burning;
Their ovens they with baked meats choke,
And all their spits are turning.
Without the door let sorrow lie;
And if for cold it hap to die,
Well bury’t in a Christmas pie,
And evermore be merry.

Now every lad is wondrous trim,
And no man minds his labour;
Our lasses have provided them
A bag-pipe and a tabor;
Young men and maids, and girls and boys,
Give life to one another’s joys;
And you anon shall by their noise
Perceive that they are merry.

Rank misers now do sparing shun;
Their hall of music soundeth;
And dogs thence with whole shoulders run,
So all things there aboundeth.
The country folks themselves advance
For crowdy-mutton’s come out of France;
And Jack shall pipe, and Jill shall dance,
And all the town be merry.…

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From “Christmas Baubles” by Kate Williams in Christmas Poems, compiled by Paul Cookson: 

Baubles
fragile, fire-bright
hanging, hovering, quivering
reflectors of tiny glinting tints
tree treasures

From “Turn the Handle” by Julie O’Callaghan in The Twelve Poems of Christmas, selected by Carol Ann Duffy:

Once I turn the handle
I am in the dream-time-zone of winter
yakking about happy festive topics
while pushing beautiful cakes
carefully between my choppers.
Robins hop out of harp notes
holding tinsel in their beaks
for the chandelier.
I make the acquaintance
of a large spruce tree
loaded down with baubles and gauds:
its needles point toward
the glittering snowdrift
at the base of the french doors.
I toss a frozen bombe into my gullet.
Sparklers explode from my ears.
The man sporting a holly wreath around his neck
has called for a game of charades.
If you are a Christmas Mummer,
crawl out from under the piano.

You are granted only one
spangled room in your life.
Turn the handle.
Step inside.

From “Christmas Glitter” in Living Christmas Every Day by Helen Steiner Rice:

With our eyes
we see the glitter
of Christmas,
with our ears
we hear the merriment,
with our hands
we touch the
tinsel-tied trinkets,
but only
with our hearts
can we feel
the miracle of it.

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From “Winter” by Alfred Lord Tennyson in The Christmas Treasury: A Collection of Stories, Poems, Carols, and Traditions, edited by Kate Hayden:

The frost is here,
The fuel is dear,
And woods are sear,
And fires burn clear,
And frost is here
And has bitten the heel of the going year.

Bite, frost, bite!
You roll up away from the light,
The blue-wood-louse and the plump dormouse,
And the bees are stilled and the flies are killed,
And you bite far into the heart of the house,
But not into mine.

Bite, frost, bite!
The woods are all the searer,
The fuel is all the dearer,
The fires are all the clearer,
My spring is all the nearer,
You have bitten into the heart of the earth,
But not into mine.

From “The Nest” in Lights from December: A Collection of Christmas Poems by Arlene Johnson Jens:

A nest became empty and dry —
Its mud sides had cracked
and its lining of grass
became brittle and chippy.
It fell from the bush
where the evergreen foliage
had buried it.
There it was.
A nest on winter’s ground.
For what?

In the light,
pearls from the earth
moistened the nest.
Its case
became clay
and the brown dry slivers
revived.

A small boy came along
and shrieked, “Hey,
a nest for my snowball!”

And he placed it there
with tenderness.

Why do we have

The Solstice of Winter
The Saturnalia of the gods
The Festival of Lights
The Light of the World!

Before hearts turn to emptiness
and dryness, become cracked
and brittle and chippy,
they must fall from the
protection of darkness
to be renewed and refreshed
by a Light!

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From “Old Shepherd, Remembering” by Grace V. Watkins in Christmas: An American Annual of Christmas Literature and Art, Volume 43:

“You are too old for tending flocks of sheep,
Especially at night,” they tell me now,
The younger shepherds. “You would fall asleep
Or stumble in the dark.” If they could know
The hunger in my heart to be again
Within that field beneath the starlit sky!
It’s lonely when you are the only one
Still living who beheld the angels high
And radiantly fair, who heard their voices.
But oh, I know with flaming certainty
That I shall hear them, see those angel faces
Again. How bright, how glorious they will be
In vaster skies, in realms of loveliness
Beyond what earthbound hearts can dream or guess!

From “O Sanctissima” in The Carols of Christmas:

Day of holiness,
Peace and happiness,
Joyful, glorious Christmas Day.
Angels tell the story
Of this day of glory;
Praise Christ, our Saviour,
Born this Christmas Day.

Oh, how joyfully,
Oh, how merrily,
Christmas comes with its peace divine!
Peace on earth is reigning,
Christ our peace regaining;
hail, ye Christians,
hail the joyous Christmastime!

Oh. how joyfully,
Oh, how merrily,
Christmas comes with its life divine!
Angels high in glory
Chant the Christmas story;
hail, ye Christians,
hail the joyous Christmastime!

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