It's Christmas, you know,
At least it's the night just before.
Father Christmas is due,
Let me whisper to you.
He doesn't come in at the door.
He doesn't come in at the window;
His ways a more wonderful way;
Over house-tops he glides,
Down the chimneys he slides,
And he's due, Fiametta, to-day!
Suppose he should mix up the stockings!
They're both the same colour and size;
It's really too bad,
It would be too sad
If I'd a wax doll with blue eyes.
If I go to sleep, Fiametta,
And you keep your eyes open wide,
You can just take a peep,
While I'm lying asleep,
To see what he's putting inside.
Oh, do keep awake, Fiametta!
My eyes are as heavy as lead,
And if he should come
With a doll or a drum
Just ask him for soilders instead.
Tomorrow morn she'll wake to see
The trinkets on her Christmas tree,
And find beside her little bed,
Where tenderly and soft of tread
Old Santa Clause has walked to leave
The toys that she might still believe.
Her stocking by the chimney place
Gives to the room a touch of grace
More beautiful than works of art
And velvet draperies can impart.
Here is a symbol of a trust
Richer than wisdom thick with dust.
I see it through the half swung door,
And smile to think long years before
I, too, on Christmas Eve was young
And eagerly a stocking hung
Beside the chimney just as she,
Ere knowledge stole my faith from me.
Upstairs about her bed there seems
The peace of childhood's lovely dreams,
And I, grown old, almost forget
The truths with which I am beset.
Upon this blessed Christmas Eve
I, too, in Santa Claus believe.
Edgar A. Guest
Questions on Christmas Eve
But how can his reindeer fly without wings?
Jets on their hooves? That's plain cheating!
And how can he climb down the chimney pot
When we've got central heating?
You say it's all magic and I shouldn't ask
About Santa on Christmas Eve.
But I'm confused bt the stories I've heard;
I don't know what to believe.
I said that I'd sit up in bed all night long
To see if he really would call.
But I fell fast asleep, woke up after dawn
As something banged in the hall.
I saw my sock cramed with apples and sweets;
There were parcels piled high near the door.
Jingle bells tinkled far off in the dark;
One snowflake shown on the floor.
Wes Magee (1939 - )