The far-away lilt of the waltz rippled to us,
And through us the exquisite thrill of the air:
Like the scent of bruised bloom was her breath, and its dew was
Not honier-sweet than her warm kisses were.
We stood there enchanted.--And O the delight of
The sight of the stars and the moon and the sea,
And the infinite skies of that opulent night of
Purple and gold and ivory!
LONG AFORE HE KNOWED WHO SANTY-CLAUS WUZ.
Jes' a little bit o' feller--I remember still,--
Ust to almost _cry_ far Christmas, like a youngster will.
Fourth o' July's nothin' to it!--New-Year's ain't a smell:
Easter-Sunday--Circus-day--jes' all dead in the shell!
Lordy, though! at night, you know, to set around and hear
The old folks work the story off about the sledge and deer,
And "Santy" skootin' round the roof, all wrapped in fur and fuzz--
Long afore
I knowed who
"Santy-Claus" wuz!
Ust to wait, and set up late, a week er two ahead:
Couldn't hardly keep awake, ner wouldn't go to bed:
Kittle stewin' on the fire, and Mother settin' here
Darnin' socks, and rockin' in the skreeky rockin'-cheer;
Pap gap', and wunder where it wuz the money went,
And quar'l with his frosted heels, and spill his liniment:
And me a-dreamin' sleigh-bells when the clock 'ud whir and buzz,
Long afore
I knowed who
"Santy-Claus" wuz!
Size the fire-place up, and figger how "Old Santy" could
Manage to come down the chimbly, like they said he would:
Wisht that I could hide and see him--wundered what he 'd say
Ef he ketched a feller layin' far him thataway!
But I _bet_ on him, and _liked_ him, same as ef he had
Turned to pat me on the back and _say_, "Look here, my lad,
Here's my pack,--jes' he'p yourse'f, like all good boys does!"
Long afore
I knowed who
"Santy-Claus" wuz!
Wisht that yarn was _true_ about him, as it 'peared to be--
Truth made out o' lies like that-un's good enough far me!--
Wisht I still wuz so confidin' I could jes' go wild
Over hangin' up my stockin's, like the little child
Climbin' in my lap to-night, and beggin' me to tell
'Bout them reindeers, and "Old Santy" that she loves so well
I'm half sorry far this little-girl-sweetheart of his--
Long afore
She knows who
"Santy-Claus" is!
DEAR HANDS.
Pages:
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129