‘Twas not a creature stirring on Christmas Eve;
Not even a mouse under any house eave.
When out on the lawn there arose such a matter,
I sprang from my bed as I grew all the madder.
Away to the window I flew like a flash, all a-shudder;
Then threw up the sash after opening the shutter.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear but Santa Claus;
And eight tiny reindeer, prancing about on their cloven claws.
He was dressed all in fur trimming his bright red suit,
and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
On his back, a bundle of toys stuck out, e’en a bicycle pedal.
Opening his pack, he looked like he was about to peddle.
Laying a finger aside of his nose, giving a nod, he arose up the flue,
Sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle and like the down of a thistle away they all flew.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove his steeds like a knight:
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”
With credits owed to Clement Moore for this ode.