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| Tree at Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, Milan - 2005 |
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
So momma in her ‘kerchief, I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters then threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, with eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively, so quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
Oh how he whistled, then shouted, then called them by name!
"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer, Hey Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on Donner, yo Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, including St Nicholas too.
Then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing or possibly pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, then was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
His clothes were all tarnished with ashes, black soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
So 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 up like a bow,
The beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
making the smoke encircle his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face, a big fat round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He was chubby, not plump, a right jolly old elf,
So I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye then 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,
Tirelessly filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
Then laying his finger aside of his nose,
while giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
Then away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, to all a good-night!"
Clement Clarke Moore (1799 - 1863)
