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The Night Before Christmas
by Clement C. Moore
T 'was the night before Christmas
when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung
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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 sugarplums
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 the bed to
see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
tore open the shutters
and threw up the sash.
The moon and 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 St. Nick.
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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,
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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 housetop
the courses they flew,
with a 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.
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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,
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his nose like a cherry.
His droll little mouth
was drawn up like a bow,
and the bead on his chin
was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe
he held tight in his teeth,
and the smoke had encircled his
head like a wreath.
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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,
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a right jolly old elf,
and I laughed when I
saw him in spite of myself.
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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
as he drove out of sight,
Happy Christmas to all,
and to all a good night.
David Coverdale 
