Twas The Night Before Christmas

'Twas 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, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were 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 roof 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 shutter, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave the lustre 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 St. Nick. More rapid than eagles, his courses they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name: "Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now dash away! 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 house-top the courses they flew, with the sleigh full of toys, and St. 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 little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard on 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, 'ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!" A Brief Note about the Author and the Poem Clement Clarke Moore's famous poem, which he named "A Visit From St. Nicholas," was published for the first time on December 23, 1823 by a New York newspaper, the Sentinel. Since then, the poem has been reprinted, translated into innumerable languages and circulated throughout the world. Back To The North Pole

I felt like a little bit of romance tonight, so I put down some of the ones I liked.  Hope you like them too.  They are not the whole poems but just nice parts of them.

This is a Swedish Proverb

LOVE me when I least

deserve it, because that is

when I really need it.

Ovid (43 BC - 17 AD) Elegy to His Mistress

What arms and shoulders did I touch
     and see

How apt her breasts were to be pressed
     by me

How smooth a belly under her waist saw I,

How large a leg, and what a lusty thigh.

To leave the rest, all liked me passing well;

I clinged her naked body, down she fell:

Judge you the rest, being tired she bade
     me kiss;

Jove send me more such afternoons as this!

Romeo and Juliet By William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)

My bounty is as boundless
     as the sea,

My love as deep, the more
     I give to thee,

The more I have, for both
    are infinite.

Sonnets from the Portuguese 43 By Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806 - 1861)

How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth
and breath and height

My soul can reach, when
feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and
Ideal Grace.

By Taira No Kanemori (10th Century)

Though I would not conceal,
In my face it yet appears,
My fond, secret love:
So much he asks of me,
"Does not something trouble you?"