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The Night Before Christmas

The Night Before Christmas

By Clement C. Moore

 

“Twas the night before Christmas,

when all through the house

Not a creature stirred, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hope that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

Whilst visions of sugar plums danced in their heads;

And Mama in her kerchief and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a winter’s long nap-

When out on the lawn there rose such a clutter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore down the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave a lustre of midday to the objects below.

When, to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver so lively and quick

I knew in a moment It must be St Nick.

More rapid than Eagles his courses they came,

And he whistled and shouted, and called them by name-

“Now, Dasher! Now Dancer! On, Comet! On, Cupid!

On, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch,

To the top of the wall! Now, dash away! Dash away!

                                               Dash away all!”

                                          As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,

 When they meet with an obstacle,mount to the sky.

                                          So up to the rooftop the courses they flew,

                                            With sleigh full of toys-and St Nicholas too;

                                          And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

                                            The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

                                          As I drew in my head and was turning around,

Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

                                          He was dressed all in fur  from his head to his foot,

                                            And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

                                          A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler Just opening his pack.

His eyes how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, His nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn like a bow,

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow!

The stump of a pipe he held in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled His head like a wreath.

He had a broad face and a  round little belly

That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump-a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, In spite of myself.

                                                 A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, But went straight to work,

        And filled all the stockings then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,

Merry Christmas to and to all a Good Night!”

 

In 1822, a New York clergyman named Clement Clarke Moore spun together

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