Classic Poem

Talk of your Christmas presents, boys,
Compared with mine mere worthless toys!

Your slippers, gowns, and smoking-caps,
Your tidies, scarfs, and worsted wraps,

Are well enough, and doubtless show
That more the giver might bestow;

But these are trifles matched with mine,
Which Annie-mates this happy line.

'Twas just by chance, the good old way,
We met one merry Christmas day —

Exactly nineteen years ago.
The ground, as now, was white with snow,

The sky was clear, the stars shone bright,
The sleigh-bells rang that joyous night;

The oft-told story, ever new,
Found welcome in her eyes of blue.

Yes, Santa Claus was kind to me;
And now, beside our Christmas-tree,

We call to mind the golden prime
That tuned our hearts to rhythmic chime,

And wrote in letters fair to see,
" True love is always poetry. "

Pray count those stockings red and small
Now hanging on the chimney wall.

You see how love at interest grows;
We're richer than the tax-list shows.

The best investment isn't stocks,
Unless you spell them briefly — " socks. "

Pin-cushioned dolls are well enough,
But give me hearts of solid stuff.

Cold comfort has the weary head
That rests on tidies pink or red.

No scarf for me, but loving arm
To keep the neck and shoulders warm.

Let others have the smoking-cap,
But give to me my Annie's lap.

I envy not your costly gown
While her dear eyes look kindly down.

Drain dry your cups of bubbling bliss;
Give me her " hinnied lips " to kiss.

Old Time may make her tresses gray,
But ne'er efface that Christmas-day.

My stocking had been hung before
On mantle-piece and chamber door,

But Santa Claus here broke the rule —
My present filled two stockings full.

The moral, boys, is short and plain,
Don't hang your stockings up again;

From long experience I know
You'll never get a present so.

Take my advice, look otherwhere,
And find one in — another pair.