The Night Before Christmas

’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a wight was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the hearth with care,
In the hope that Saint Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While dreams of sugar plums whirled in their heads,
And Mama in her snood, and I in my cap,
Had settled our brains for a long winter’s nap—
When out in the yard there arose such clattering,
I sprang from the bed to see what was happening.
As quick as a flash to the window I came,
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the frame.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Gave the shine of midday to the things below;
Which then, to my wondering eyes should seem,
The smallest of sleighs, pulled by a tiny reindeer team,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew at once that it must be Saint Nick.
Swifter than birds, his eight drafts they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer and Vixen,
“On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Donner and Blitzen;
“To the top of the doorway! 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 a hurdle, climb to the sky;
So up to the house–top the reindeer they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys—and Saint Nicholas too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and padding of each little hoof.
As I drew from the window, to wake Mama from sleep,
Down the hearth’s flue Saint Nick came with a leap:
He was clad all in fell, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all dirtied with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys was flung on his back,
And he looked like a hawker opening his pack:
His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples: how merry,
He cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His odd little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke curled round his head like a wreath.
He had a broad look, and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly:
He was chubby and plump, a right merry old elf,
When I saw him I laughed, rather out of self;
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 his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, back up the flue he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle:
But I heard him call out, as he drove out of sight—
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.