The Holidays Poem by Charles Frederick White

T'ward the last of bleak December
When the northern fields are bare,
When the trees are still and leafless,
And the frost flies through the air,
When the bluebird has flown southward
And the robin seeks more warmth,
When wild-goose and duck have had their
Summer outing in the north,
Then the hare and deer are hunted
By the jolly city folk
Who have left their toil and business;
Donned their winter cap and cloak.
Then the farmer has his pleasure,
For the harvest has been stored
In the barns and sheds for winter,
And the fruit preserved and lowered
To the cellar for safe keeping,
And the winter meat is cured.
Squirrel, too, has hid his acorns
In some safe spot and secured.
When the student's mind is wearied
With the studies of the fall
And the melancholy days have
Settled calmly over all,
Then begins a week of pleasure
Known to us as 'Holidays.'
Christmas Eve is first to greet us
With its joyous rhymes and lays.
On this night we hang our stockings
Side by side along the wall
To be filled with toys and sweet things
By Saint Nicholas, as he's called.
On the next day, then, we get up
When the sun at early morn
Peeps out on the joys before him:—
Christmas day, when Christ was born.
All this day we're gay and mirthful;
One whole week is spent in glee;
Then comes New Year's day with all its
Vows to be, or not to be.
So the world begins its journey
Through the coming year of strife,
Mingling all its joys and sorrows
To compose what we call life.