LITTLE Penelope Socrates, A Boston maid of four, Wide opened her eyes on Christmas morn, And looked the landscape o'er. "What is it inflates my @3bas de bleu?"@1 She asked with dignity; "'Tis Ibsen in the original! Oh, joy beyond degree!" Miss Mary Cadwallader Rittenhouse Of Philadelphia town, Awoke as much as they ever do there And watched the snow come down. "I'm glad that it is Christmas," You might have heard her say, "For my family is one year older now Than it was last Christmas day." 'Twas Christmas in giddy Gotham, And Miss Irene de Jones Awoke at noon and yawned and yawned, And stretched her languid bones. "I'm sorry it is Christmas, Papa at home will stay, For 'Change is closed and he won't make A single cent to-day." Windily dawned the Christmas On the city by the lake, And Miss Arabel Wabash Breezy Was instantly awake. "What's that thing in my stocking? Well, in two jiffs I'll know!" And she drew a grand piano forth From 'way down in the toe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POETS ARE BORN NOT MADE by ROBERT FROST PERSPECTIVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON RHYTHM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON GHOSTS OF THE OLD YEAR by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON EIGHTEEN-DOLLAR TAXI TRIP TO TIZAPAN AND BACK TO CHAPALA by CLARENCE MAJOR |