The Mahogany-tree





WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY



Christmas is here;

Winds whistle shrill,

Icy and chill,

Little care we;

Little we fear

Weather without,

Sheltered 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,

Perched 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!





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