Twas The Night Before Christmas

Twas the Night Before Christmas”  is a poem first published anonymously under the title Account of a Visit from St. Nicholas in 1823 and later attributed to Clement Clarke Moore, who claimed authorship in 1837

Twas the Night Before Christmas

It was the night before Christmas when all through the house

not a creature was stirring not even a mouse 

the stockings were hung by the chimney with care 

and hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there 

the children have nestled all snug in their beds

while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads

and mama in her kerchief and I in my cap

had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap

when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter

away to the window, I flew like a flash

tore open the shutters and threw up threw up the sash

the moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

gave the luster of midday to objects below

when what to my wondering eyes should appear

but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer

with a little old driver so lively and quick

I knew in a moment it must be saint nick

more rapid than eagles his coursers they came

and he whistled and shouted and called them by name

now dasher now a dancer now prancer and vixen

on the comet on cupid on donder and Blitzen

to the top of the porch to the top of the wall

now dash away dash away all

as dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly

when they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky

so up to the housetop the coursers they flew

with the sleigh full of toys and Saint Nicholas too

and then in a twinkling, i heard on the roof

the prancing and pawing of each little hoof

as I drew in my head and was turning around

down the chimney st Nicholas came with a bound

he was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot

and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot

a bundle of toys he had flung on his back

and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack

his eyes how they twinkled his dimples how merry

his cheeks were like roses his nose like a cherry

his droll of little mouth was drawn up like a bow

and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow

the stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth

and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath

he had a broad face and a little round belly

that shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly

he was chubby and plump a right jolly old elf

and I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself

a wink of his eye and a twist of his head

soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread

he spoke not a word but went straight to his work

and filled all the stockings then turned with a jerk

and laying his finger aside of his nose

and giving a nod up the chimney he rose

he sprang to his sleigh to his team gave a whistle

and away they all flew like the down of a thistle

but I heard him exclaim air he drove out of sight

happy Christmas to all and all a good night.

The End