Kitabı oku: «The Mahogany Tree», sayfa 4

THE MAHOGANY TREE

 
Christmas is here:
Winds whistle shrill,
Icy and chill,
Little care we:
Little we fear
Weather without,
Sheltered about
The Mahogany Tree
 
 
Once on the boughs
Birds of rare plume
Sang, in its bloom;
Night-birds are we:
Here we carouse,
Singing like them,
Perched round the stem
Of the jolly old tree.
 
 
Here let us sport,
Boys, as we sit;
Laughter and wit
Flashing so free.
Life is but short —
When we are gone,
Let them sing on
Round the old tree.
 
 
Evenings we knew,
Happy as this;
Faces we miss,
Pleasant to see.