Christmas is here;
Winds whistle shrill,
Icy and chill,
Little care we;
Little we fear
Weather without,
Shelter'd 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,
Perch'd 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.
Kind hearts and true,
Gentle and just,
Peace to your dust!
We sing round the tree.
Care, like a dun,
Lurks at the gate:
Let the dog wait;
Happy we "ll be!
Drink every one;
Pile up the coals,
Fill the red bowls,
Round the old tree.
Drain we the cup.-
Friend, art afraid?
Spirits are laid
In the Red Sea.
Mantle it up;
Empty it yet;
Let us forget,
Round the old tree.
Sorrows, begone!
Life and its ills,
Duns and their bills,
Bid we to flee.
Come with the dawn,
Blue-devil sprite,
Leave us to-night,
Round the old tree.
- William Makepeace Thackeray
Sorrows, begone! Sweet wine, sparkling laughter, warm companionship, and the song of night-birds under a canopy of rustling mahogany: robin-red currants, soft nightingale-brown tonka, glossy starling-black labdanum, hearth-warm amber, mahogany sap, winter woods, a splash of Muscat, and gentle Christmas snow.
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