Classic Poem

In the days of Methusalem, ages ago,
Our grandfathers revelled in ice and in snow;
But we've varied all that, it was really too slow,
And we relegate such to the mild Esquimaux.

A fig for the grievance of winterless weather,
As long as good friends can be gathered together
With spirits as light — hearts as warm — as a feather
And Time tugging gently his end of the tether.

Let the season be frosty, or windy, or wet,
The claims of old Yule we can never forget,
And we'll honour the holly as happily yet
As our ancestors did when they merrily met.

Then here's to the turkey, the goose or the gander,
To the blazing plum-pudding dyspeptics all slander,
To the mistletoe bough, and — what toast can be grander? —
The health of King Christmas, the Revel Commander,