 | A merry-go-round of song |  |
139
THE LAST CHIMNEY
“This is the last,” said Santa Claus,
And crouched behind the chimney-stack
To dodge the tomboy wind, because
It played so fiercely with his sack.
“This is the last of lots and lots
Absurdly inconvenient pots
On villas, mansions, farms, and cots,
And all as black as black!
And crouched behind the chimney-stack
To dodge the tomboy wind, because
It played so fiercely with his sack.
“This is the last of lots and lots
Absurdly inconvenient pots
On villas, mansions, farms, and cots,
And all as black as black!
“This is the last; and well I know,”
Said Santa, shuffling with his feet,
“Who lies a dozen yards below,
All velvet-soft and sugar-sweet.
Last year for my unworthy sake
Her little heart was pleased to ache.
She left a lump of fruity cake
For Santa Claus to eat.”
Said Santa, shuffling with his feet,
“Who lies a dozen yards below,
All velvet-soft and sugar-sweet.
Last year for my unworthy sake
Her little heart was pleased to ache.
She left a lump of fruity cake
For Santa Claus to eat.”
He waved his heels, and nimbly slid
Adown the tunnel to the bed
Where Lizzie's face was almost hid
By gold adrift from Lizzie's head.
Meanwhile upon the roof a fat
And puzzled, grey, half-Persian cat
Was wondering what the man was at,
Or whether he was dead!
Adown the tunnel to the bed
Where Lizzie's face was almost hid
By gold adrift from Lizzie's head.
Meanwhile upon the roof a fat
And puzzled, grey, half-Persian cat
Was wondering what the man was at,
Or whether he was dead!
140
When Santa hurriedly appeared
In Lizzie's room, he had to pause
To hug himself, and stroke his beard,
And smile his Christmas smile, because
Upon a table, neatly spread
With cloth and plates beside the bed,
He found a sprawly note, which said,
Two pies for Santa Claus.
In Lizzie's room, he had to pause
To hug himself, and stroke his beard,
And smile his Christmas smile, because
Upon a table, neatly spread
With cloth and plates beside the bed,
He found a sprawly note, which said,
Two pies for Santa Claus.
“No stocking in the world,” quoth he,
“Shall hold so large a share of glee
As this you trust in love to me,
My sweet and thoughtful Liz.”
Then, when at last the stocking's size
Was big enough for Santa's eyes,
He took the pair of mincemeat pies
And vanished with a whiz!
“Shall hold so large a share of glee
As this you trust in love to me,
My sweet and thoughtful Liz.”
Then, when at last the stocking's size
Was big enough for Santa's eyes,
He took the pair of mincemeat pies
And vanished with a whiz!
| A merry-go-round of song | |