![]() |
||
|
Главная • Биографии • Стихи по темам • Случайное стихотворение • Переводчики • Ссылки • Антологии Рейтинг поэтов • Рейтинг стихотворений |
|
Charles Frederick White (Чарльз Фредерик Уайт) The Holidays 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. Charles Frederick White's other poems: ![]() Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1303 |
||
|
||
Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |