 | [What Santa Claus was like, in] Michigan Poets and Poetry |  |
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What Santa Claus Was Like
I.
“Now what is he like, do you believe?”
Said Margerie, Jean, and Joe,
Three tots that sat, on Christmas eve,
In the fireside's frolicsome glow:
“Is he tall, or short? Is he stout, or slim?
Pictures so many we've seen of him—
All different, too, you know:
Lie we awake to-night—us three—
And watch till he comes—and then we'll see,
And tell it, to all our friends' delight,
At the Christmas party to-morrow night.”
Said Margerie, Jean, and Joe,
Three tots that sat, on Christmas eve,
In the fireside's frolicsome glow:
“Is he tall, or short? Is he stout, or slim?
Pictures so many we've seen of him—
All different, too, you know:
Lie we awake to-night—us three—
And watch till he comes—and then we'll see,
And tell it, to all our friends' delight,
At the Christmas party to-morrow night.”
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The wind was high, and the gales flew by,
With their dappled wings of snow:
They tapped in vain at the window-pane—
They onward still must go.
“He will have a fine old stormy night,”
Said the sturdy little Joe:
“He will be a sight, in his coat of white,”
Said Marge, with her eyes aglow.
“We must have him a cup of coffee here,
And give him a bite, and a word of cheer,”
Said Jean, with her eyes bent low.
With their dappled wings of snow:
They tapped in vain at the window-pane—
They onward still must go.
“He will have a fine old stormy night,”
Said the sturdy little Joe:
“He will be a sight, in his coat of white,”
Said Marge, with her eyes aglow.
“We must have him a cup of coffee here,
And give him a bite, and a word of cheer,”
Said Jean, with her eyes bent low.
And the mother smiled, as their talk she heard,
And measured and treasured every word,
As she did of the other child, that lay
Far out in the field, in its cot of clay,
'Neath many a frozen tear of love—
The chill winds rocking the branches above.
She covered and cuddled, with heart astir,
The three sweet ones that were left to her,
And shut them into their cozy beds,
And kissed the raven and golden heads,
And kissed them again for her husband's sake,
And said, “Yes, dears, you may lie awake,
(If you can) and watch, to see, and tell
Of the Santa Claus that you love so well.”
And measured and treasured every word,
As she did of the other child, that lay
Far out in the field, in its cot of clay,
'Neath many a frozen tear of love—
The chill winds rocking the branches above.
She covered and cuddled, with heart astir,
The three sweet ones that were left to her,
And shut them into their cozy beds,
And kissed the raven and golden heads,
And kissed them again for her husband's sake,
And said, “Yes, dears, you may lie awake,
(If you can) and watch, to see, and tell
Of the Santa Claus that you love so well.”
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II.
“Now what do you think was Santa Claus like?”
Said Margerie, Jean, and Joe,
Each other asking, as brightly basking
Safe in the fireside's glow,
They hugged the toys they had found next morning
Sweetly their stockings' depths adorning:
“Which of us ought to know?”
And each one spoke from the seeing purely—
(All of them thought they had seen him, surely—
Margerie, Jean, and Joe.)
Said Margerie, Jean, and Joe,
Each other asking, as brightly basking
Safe in the fireside's glow,
They hugged the toys they had found next morning
Sweetly their stockings' depths adorning:
“Which of us ought to know?”
And each one spoke from the seeing purely—
(All of them thought they had seen him, surely—
Margerie, Jean, and Joe.)
“Oh, he was a stylish and smart old man,
And stayed here quite a while,
And down to his knees a white beard ran,”
Said Margerie, with a smile:
“He sang me a nice and queer old song,
And told of his journeys strange and long,
And all the children he went to see,
And some of them looked, he said, like me;
And he drove a reindeer right in here,
With gold-plate harness pretty and queer;
And I held my hand to the pet to kiss:
But all at once he jumped—like this—
And away they went, with chimney for door,
And deer and driver I saw no more.”
And stayed here quite a while,
And down to his knees a white beard ran,”
Said Margerie, with a smile:
“He sang me a nice and queer old song,
And told of his journeys strange and long,
And all the children he went to see,
And some of them looked, he said, like me;
And he drove a reindeer right in here,
With gold-plate harness pretty and queer;
And I held my hand to the pet to kiss:
But all at once he jumped—like this—
And away they went, with chimney for door,
And deer and driver I saw no more.”
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“Oh Margerie, that was a great big dream,”
Said Joe, “if you speak for true:
I saw him myself, and he didn't seem
At all as he did to you!
He was dressed like a general spick and trim,
With great big medals all over him;
And a sword of steel, as bright as you please,
And boots that climbed up over his knees;
He was like Napoleon in the book,
But twice as big, with a kinder look;
And he said, “When 'tisn't Christmas, I'm
A big brave general, all the time;
And if you are good, and do as you should,
I'll bring you some fireworks, by-and-by,
To burn on the Fourth of next July.”
Said Joe, “if you speak for true:
I saw him myself, and he didn't seem
At all as he did to you!
He was dressed like a general spick and trim,
With great big medals all over him;
And a sword of steel, as bright as you please,
And boots that climbed up over his knees;
He was like Napoleon in the book,
But twice as big, with a kinder look;
And he said, “When 'tisn't Christmas, I'm
A big brave general, all the time;
And if you are good, and do as you should,
I'll bring you some fireworks, by-and-by,
To burn on the Fourth of next July.”
“Why, both of you dreamed you saw him: how queer!”
Said Jean, with her simple grace:
“I saw him myself: he was just a dear
Old man, with a sweet, sad face;
“Is that your brother and sister?” said he:
And bent and kissed you, the same as me.
“I will wake them,” said I, “from their slumber deep:
They wanted to see you, but fell asleep.”
“No, no, my dear: let them sleep who can!
Good-by, little girl,” said the dear old man,
And was off—and left me alone with you,
Wishing that you could have seen him too.”
Said Jean, with her simple grace:
“I saw him myself: he was just a dear
Old man, with a sweet, sad face;
“Is that your brother and sister?” said he:
And bent and kissed you, the same as me.
“I will wake them,” said I, “from their slumber deep:
They wanted to see you, but fell asleep.”
“No, no, my dear: let them sleep who can!
Good-by, little girl,” said the dear old man,
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Wishing that you could have seen him too.”
And the mother said, 'mid smiles and tears,
“I think that you all have seen him, dears.”
“I think that you all have seen him, dears.”
| [What Santa Claus was like, in] Michigan Poets and Poetry | |