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 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 Saint 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!”

Clement Clarke Moore, who wrote this poem, published a whole volume of poems, but none of the others is as famous as is this.  It was written for his own children, and he did not even know that it was to be published.  It appeared in the Troy Sentinel in 1823, just two days before Christmas, and we can imagine how delighted children were when they had it read to them for the first time.  It is not a great poem; but no Christmas poem that has been published since has been half as popular with children, and even grown people like it for its jolliness and its Christmas spirit.

THE STORY OF PHAETHON

Phaeton, the son of the nymph Clymene, was very proud of his mother’s beauty, and used to boast of it greatly to his playmates.  Tired of the boy’s bragging and conceit, one of his friends said to him one day: 

“You’re very willing to talk about your mother, but I notice you never speak of your father.  Are you ashamed of him?”

“No, I’m not,” replied Phaethon, trying to look unabashed.

“Well, then, tell us about him.  If he were anything great, you would be willing enough to brag about him.”

And because Phaethon kept quiet, all of his playmates began to jeer at him, cruelly enough.