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The Christmas Stocking · Ririro.com - Poetry

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  Speaker 1: The Christmas stalking. In the ghostly light, I'm sitting musing
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  Speaker 1: of long dead decembers, while the fire clad shapes are
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  Speaker 1: flitting in and out among the embers on my hearthstone
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  Speaker 1: in mad races, and I marvel, for in seeming I
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  Speaker 1: can dimly see the faces and the scenes of which
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  Speaker 1: I'm dreaming, Oh golden Christmas days of yore. In sweet anticipation,
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  Speaker 1: I lived their joys for days before their glorious realization.
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  Speaker 1: And on the dawn of Christmas morn, my childish heart
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  Speaker 1: was knocking a wild tattoo as twould break through. As
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  Speaker 1: I unhung my stalking, each simple gift that came to hand,
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  Speaker 1: how marvelous. I thought it a treasure straight from Wonderland,
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  Speaker 1: for Santa Claus had brought it. And at my cries
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  Speaker 1: of glad surprise, the others all came flocking to share
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  Speaker 1: my glee and view with me the contents of the
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  Speaker 1: stalking years sped. I left each well loved scene in
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  Speaker 1: northern wilds to Rome, and there mid tossing pine trees green,
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  Speaker 1: I made myself a home. We numbered three and blithe
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  Speaker 1: were we at adverse fortune, mocking and Christmas tide by
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  Speaker 1: our fireside, found hung the baby's stalking. Alas within our
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  Speaker 1: home tonight, no sweet young voice is ringing, and through
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  Speaker 1: its silent rooms, no light, free, childish step is springing.
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  Speaker 1: The wild wind's rave or baby's grave, where plumy pines
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  Speaker 1: are rocking and crossed at rest on marble breast the
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  Speaker 1: hands that filled my stalking with misty eyes, but steady hand,
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  Speaker 1: I raise my Christmas chalice. Here's to the children of
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  Speaker 1: the land, in cabin or in palace. May each one
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  Speaker 1: hold the key of gold, the gates of glee unlocking,
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  Speaker 1: and hands be found the whole world round to fill
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  Speaker 1: the Christmas stalking