Saturday, December 17, 2016

Four Little Known Poems About Christmas




A Christmas Carol
by Carmine Giordano

“Behold the great Creator makes
Himself a house of clay,” English Carol
While the planets whirl
and the galaxies stretch and fold,
while the fires boil beneath the sea
and all the bells go bong,
I, creator man, am born 
in Bethlehem today.
This birthday is mine.
I light the candles in the sky.
I make the angels sing. 
I take the crowned man off the tree
and raise him from the dead.
I make him immortal king. 
Join then, all hearts that are not stone,
and all our voices prove, 
I redeem the time.
Let the magi bring their myrrh to me. 
I am the miracle they came to see.

*                     *                     *

Mistletoe
by Walter De La Mare

Sitting under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
One last candle burning low,
All the sleepy dancers gone,
Just one candle burning on,
Shadows lurking everywhere:
Some one came, and kissed me there.

Tired I was; my head would go
Nodding under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
No footsteps came, no voice, but only,
Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,
Stooped in the still and shadowy air
Lips unseen - and kissed me there.

*                     *                     *

[little tree]

little tree 
little silent Christmas tree 
you are so little 
you are more like a flower 

who found you in the green forest 
and were you very sorry to come away? 
see          i will comfort you 
because you smell so sweetly 

i will kiss your cool bark 
and hug you safe and tight 
just as your mother would, 
only don't be afraid 

look          the spangles 
that sleep all the year in a dark box 
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine, 
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads, 

put up your little arms 
and i'll give them all to you to hold 
every finger shall have its ring 
and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy 

then when you're quite dressed 
you'll stand in the window for everyone to see 
and how they'll stare! 
oh but you'll be very proud 

and my little sister and i will take hands 
and looking up at our beautiful tree 
we'll dance and sing 
"Noel Noel" 

*                     *                     *



Christmas Trees
by Robert Frost

(A Christmas Circular Letter)

  (A Christmas Circular Letter)
  The city had withdrawn into itself
   And left at last the country to the country;
  When between whirls of snow not come to lie
  And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove
  A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,
  Yet did in country fashion in that there
He sat and waited till he drew us out
A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was.
He proved to be the city come again
To look for something it had left behind
And could not do without and keep its Christmas.
He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees;
My woods—the young fir balsams like a place
Where houses all are churches and have spires.
I hadn’t thought of them as Christmas Trees.
I doubt if I was tempted for a moment
To sell them off their feet to go in cars
And leave the slope behind the house all bare,
Where the sun shines now no warmer than the moon.
I’d hate to have them know it if I was.
Yet more I’d hate to hold my trees except
As others hold theirs or refuse for them,
Beyond the time of profitable growth,
The trial by market everything must come to.
I dallied so much with the thought of selling.
Then whether from mistaken courtesy
And fear of seeming short of speech, or whether
From hope of hearing good of what was mine, I said,
“There aren’t enough to be worth while.”
“I could soon tell how many they would cut,
You let me look them over.”

                                                     “You could look.
But don’t expect I’m going to let you have them.”
Pasture they spring in, some in clumps too close
That lop each other of boughs, but not a few
Quite solitary and having equal boughs
All round and round. The latter he nodded “Yes” to,
Or paused to say beneath some lovelier one,
With a buyer’s moderation, “That would do.”
I thought so too, but wasn’t there to say so.
We climbed the pasture on the south, crossed over,
And came down on the north. He said, “A thousand.”

“A thousand Christmas trees!—at what apiece?”

He felt some need of softening that to me:
“A thousand trees would come to thirty dollars.”

Then I was certain I had never meant
To let him have them. Never show surprise!
But thirty dollars seemed so small beside
The extent of pasture I should strip, three cents
(For that was all they figured out apiece),
Three cents so small beside the dollar friends
I should be writing to within the hour
Would pay in cities for good trees like those,
Regular vestry-trees whole Sunday Schools
Could hang enough on to pick off enough.
A thousand Christmas trees I didn’t know I had!
Worth three cents more to give away than sell,
As may be shown by a simple calculation.
Too bad I couldn’t lay one in a letter.
I can’t help wishing I could send you one,
In wishing you herewith a Merry Christmas.



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