Christmas Greetings

Christmas comes but once a year.
Though by nature snappy,
Let us, as we may, appear
Merry, friend, and happy!
Buckle to; and when you meet your
Thunderstricken fellow-creature,
Show the broad, indulgent smile
Of th' ingenuous crocodile!
Look as if you'd backed a winner!
Laugh, you miserable sinner!

Brother, Christmas Day has come.
Can't you seek for inspi-
ration in the turkey, plum-
pudding, beef, and mince-pie?
Brave it out, and tho' you sit on
Tenterhooks, remain a Briton;
You can only do your best;
Boxing Day's a day of rest!
Throw aside your small digestive
Eccentricities. Be festive!

Christmas Day is on the wing.
Are you feeling wroth with
Any one for anything?
Beg his pardon forthwith!
Though the right is all on your side,
Say it isn't; say 'Of course I'd
No intention - very rude -
Shocking taste - but misconstrued' -
Then (while I admit it's horri-
fying) tell the man you're sorry!

Christmas Day will soon have flown.
If, despite persuasion,
You resolve to be alone
On the glad occasion,
Better (do as I have done!)
Vanish with a scatter-gun;
If you have to see it through,
(Better do what I shall do!)
Dining quietly at the Club'll
Save us from a world of trouble!

John Kendall (Dum-Dum)

No biography available

John Kendall (Dum-Dum)

The Shores Of Nothing

John Kendall (Dum-Dum), Simple Poetry

To My Lady Of The Hills

John Kendall (Dum-Dum), Simple Poetry

To An Elephant On His Tonic Qualities

John Kendall (Dum-Dum), Simple Poetry

A Sombre Retrospect

John Kendall (Dum-Dum), Simple Poetry

English

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A Happy New Year

11.30 P.M., DEC. 31


Friend, when the year is on the wing,
'Tis held a fair and comely thing
To turn reflective glances
Over the days' forbidden Scroll,
See if we're better on the whole,
And average our chances.

Yet 'tis an awful thing to drag
Each separate deed from out the bag
That up till now has hidden 't,
And bring before the shuddering view
All that we swore we wouldn't do,
Or should have done, but didn't.

The broken code, the baffled laws
Our little private faults and flaws,
And every naughty habit,
Come whistling through the Waste of Life,
Until one longs to take a knife,
Feel for his heart, and stab it.

Unchanged, exultant, one and all
Rise up spontaneous to the call,
And bring their stings behind ...

John Kendall (Dum-Dum)

To Next Christmas

    My dear Next Christmas, -
    It is an excellent journalistic thing,
    Not to say a poetical thing,
    To be first in the field.
    Behold me, therefore, advancing
    At the head of that motley army
    Which will inevitably hail you
    When your time comes.
    For your predecessor,
    My dear Next Christmas,
    I cannot say much.
    He came in with several thousand inches of rain;
    He went out on a watery moon.
    There was turkey as usual,
    Pudding as usual,
    Mistletoe as usual,
    Peace on earth as usual.
    There were also the waits,
    The young folks,
    The postman,
    The dustman
    (No connection with the scavengers),
    And the turncock.
    We had a merry day.
    Half the world ...

Thomas William Hodgson Crosland

Marmion

Heap on more wood! the wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,
Well keep our Christmas merry still.
Each age has deemd the new-born year
The fittest time for festal cheer:
Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane
At Iol more deep the mead did drain;
High on the beach his galleys drew,
And feasted all his pirate crew;
Then in his low and pine-built hall
Where shields and axes deckd the wall
They gorged upon the half-dressd steer;
Caroused in seas of sable beer;
While round, in brutal jest, were thrown
The half-gnawd rib, and marrow-bone:
Or listend all, in grim delight,
While Scalds yelld out the joys of fight.
Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie,
While wildly loose their red locks fly,
And dancing round the blazing pile,
They make ...

Walter Scott

Marmion: A Christmas Poem

Heap on more wood! the wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,
We'll keep our Christmas merry still.
Each age has deem'd the new-born year
The fittest time for festal cheer:
Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane
At Iol more deep the mead did drain;
High on the beach his galleys drew,
And feasted all his pirate crew;
Then in his low and pine-built hall
Where shields and axes deck'd the wall
They gorged upon the half-dress'd steer;
Caroused in seas of sable beer;
While round, in brutal jest, were thrown
The half-gnaw'd rib, and marrow-bone:
Or listen?d all, in grim delight,
While Scalds yell'd out the joys of fight.
Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie,
While wildly loose their red locks fly,
And dancing round the blazing pile,
They make ...

Walter Scott

Christmas Day

How will it dawn, the coming Christmas Day?
A northern Christmas, such as painters love,
And kinsfolk, shaking hands but once a year,
And dames who tell old legends by the fire?
Red sun, blue sky, white snow, and pearled ice,
Keen ringing air, which sets the blood on fire,
And makes the old man merry with the young,
Through the short sunshine, through the longer night?
    Or southern Christmas, dark and dank with mist,
And heavy with the scent of steaming leaves,
And rosebuds mouldering on the dripping porch;
One twilight, without rise or set of sun,
Till beetles drone along the hollow lane,
And round the leafless hawthorns, flitting bats
Hawk the pale moths of winter?    Welcome then
At best, the flying gleam, the flying shower,
The rain-pools glittering on ...

Charles Kingsley

Christmas In India

Dim dawn behind the tamerisks, the sky is saffron-yellow,
As the women in the village grind the corn,
And the parrots seek the riverside, each calling to his fellow
That the Day, the staring Easter Day, is born.
O the white dust on the highway! O the stenches in the byway!
O the clammy fog that hovers over earth!
And at Home they're making merry 'neath the white and scarlet berry,
What part have India's exiles in their mirth?

Full day begind the tamarisks, the sky is blue and staring,
As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke,
And they bear One o'er the field-path, who is past all hope or caring,
To the ghat below the curling wreaths of smoke.
Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a brother lowly,
Call on Rama, he may hear, perhaps, your voice!
With our hymn-bo...

Rudyard