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A
VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS
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Clement Clarke
Moore
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'Twas the night before
Christmas, when all through the house
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Not a creature was
stirring, not even a mouse;
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The stockings were
hung by the chimney with care,
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In hopes that St.
Nicholas soon would be there.
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The children were
nestled all snug in their beds,
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While visions of
sugar-plums danced in their heads;
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And mamma in her
'kerchief, and I in my cap,
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Had just settled our
brains for a long winter's nap,
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When out on the lawn
there arose such a clatter,
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I sprang from my bed
to see what was the matter.
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Away to the window I
flew like a flash,
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Tore open the shutters
and threw up the sash.
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The moon on the breast
of the new-fallen snow
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Gave the luster of
midday to objects below,
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When, what to my
wondering eyes should appear,
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But a miniature
sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
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With a little old
driver, so lively and quick,
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I knew in a moment it
must be St. Nick.
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More rapid than eagles
his coursers they came,
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And he whistled, and
shouted, and called them by name:
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"Now, Dasher! now,
Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
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On, Comet! on, Cupid!
on, Donder and Blitzen!
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To the top of the
porch! to the top of the wall!
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Now dash away! dash
away! dash away all!"
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As dry leaves that
before the wild hurricane fly,
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When they meet with an
obstacle, mount to the sky,
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So up to the housetop
the coursers they flew,
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With the sleigh full
of toys, and St. Nicholas, too.
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And then, in a
twinkling, I heard on the roof
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The prancing and
pawing of each little hoof
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As I drew in my head,
and was turning around,
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Down the chimney St.
Nicholas came with a bound.
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He was dressed all in
fur, from his head to his foot,
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And his clothes were
all covered with ashes and soot;
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A bundle of toys he
had flung on his back,
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And he looked like a
peddler just opening his pack.
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His eyes--how they
twinkled! his dimples how merry!
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His cheeks were like
roses, his nose like a cherry!
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His droll little mouth
was drawn up like a bow,
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And the beard on his
chin was as white as the snow;
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The stump of a pipe he
held tight in his teeth,
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and the smoke it
encircled his head like a wreath;
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He had a broad face
and a little round belly
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That shook, when he
laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
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He was chubby and
plump, a right jolly old elf
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And I laughed when I
saw him, in spite of myself;
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A wink of his eye and
a twist of his head,
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Soon gave me to know I
had nothing to dread;
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He spoke not a word,
but went straight to his work,
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And filled all the
stockings; then turned with a jerk,
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And laying his finger
aside of his nose
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And giving a nod, up
the chimney he rose;
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He sprang to his
sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
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And away they all flew
like the down of a thistle.
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But I heard him
exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
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"Happy Christmas to
all, and to all a good night."
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Rhyme
By Elizabeth Coatsworth
I like to see a thunder storm,
A dunder storm,
A blunder storm,
I like to see it, black and slow,
Come stumbling down the hills
I like to hear a thunder storm,
A plunder storm,
A wonder storm,
Roar loudly at our little house
And shake the window sills!
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Rain Clouds
By Elizabeth-Ellen Long
Along a road
Not built by man
There winds a silent
Caravan
Of camel-clouds
Whose humped gray backs
Are weighted down
With heavy packs
Of long-awaited,
Precious rain
To make the old earth
Young again,
And dress her shabby
Fields and hills
In green grass silk
With wild-flower frills
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POLAR-BEAR
PINES
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Oh, every pine is a
polar-bear zoo
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when the fluffity,
puffity storm is through,
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for every branch holds
a bear or two
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when the fluffity
storm is through.
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Maybe-bears,
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play-be-bears,
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big and small and baby
bears!
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Slumpy
bears,
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dumpy
bears,
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never cross-and-grumpy
bears!
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Oh, every pine is a
polar-bear zoo
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when the rollicky,
frolicky storm is through.
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The More It Snows
By A. A. Milne
The more it
SNOWS-tiddely-pom,
The more it
GOES-tiddely-pom
The more it
GOES-tiddely-pom
On
Snowing.
And nobody
KNOWS-tiddely-pom,
How cold my
TOES-tiddely-pom
Are
Growing
To Walk in Warm Rain
By David McCord
To walk in warm rain
And get wetter and wetter!
To do it again—
To walk in warm rain
Till you drip like a drain.
To walk in warm rain
And get wetter and wetter.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep
First Snow
By Louise Allen
Snow makes whiteness where it falls.
The bushes look like popcorn-balls.
And places where I always play,
Look like somewhere else today.
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