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| ’T IS Christmas, and the North wind blows; ’t was two years yesterday | |
| Since from the Lusitania’s bows I looked o’er Table Bay, | |
| A tripper round the narrow world, a pilgrim of the main, | |
| Expecting when her sails unfurled to start for home again. | |
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| ’T is Christmas, and the North wind blows; to-day our hearts are one, | 5 |
| Though you are ’mid the English snows and I in Austral sun; | |
| You, when you hear the Northern blast, pile high a mightier fire, | |
| Our ladies cower until it ’s past in lawn and lace attire. | |
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| I fancy I can picture you upon this Christmas night, | |
| Just sitting as you used to do, the laughter at its height: | 10 |
| And then a sudden, silent pause intruding on your glee, | |
| And kind eyes glistening because you chanced to think of me. | |
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| This morning when I woke and knew ’t was Christmas come again, | |
| I almost fancied I could view white rime upon the pane, | |
| And hear the ringing of the wheels upon the frosty ground, | 15 |
| And see the drip that downward steals in icy casket bound. | |
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| I daresay you ’ll be on the lake, or sliding on the snow, | |
| And breathing on your hands to make the circulation flow, | |
| Nestling your nose among the furs of which your boa ’s made,— | |
| The Fahrenheit here registers a hundred in the shade. | 20 |
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| It is not quite a Christmas here with this unclouded sky, | |
| This pure transparent atmosphere, this sun midheaven-high; | |
| To see the rose upon the bush, young leaves upon the trees, | |
| And hear the forest’s summer hush or the low hum of bees. | |
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| But cold winds bring not Christmastide, nor budding roses June, | 25 |
| And when it ’s night upon your side we ’re basking in the noon. | |
| Kind hearts make Christmas—June can bring blue sky or clouds above; | |
| The only universal spring is that which comes of love. | |
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| And so it ’s Christmas in the South as on the North-Sea coasts, | |
| Though we are starved with summer-drouth and you with winter frosts. | 30 |
| And we shall have our roast beef here, and think of you the while, | |
| Though all the watery hemisphere cuts off the mother isle. | |
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| Feel sure that we shall think of you, we who have wandered forth, | |
| And many a million thoughts will go to-day from south to north; | |
| Old heads will muse on churches old, where bells will ring to-day— | 35 |
| The very bells, perchance, which tolled their fathers to the clay. | |
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| And now, good-night! and I shall dream that I am with you all, | |
| Watching the ruddy embers gleam athwart the panelled hall; | |
| Nor care I if I dream or not, though severed by the foam, | |
| My heart is always in the spot which was my childhood’s home. | 40 |
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