WHEN other wits and other bards,
Their tales at Christmas tell,
Or praise on cheap and colored cards
The time they love so well,
Secure from scorn and ridicule
I hope my verse may be,
If I can still remember Yule,
And Yule remember me.
The days are dark, the days are drear,
When dull December dies;
But, while we mourn an ended year,
Another’s star will rise.
I hail the season formed by rule
For merriment and glee;
So let me still remember Yule,
And Yule remember me.
The rich plum-pudding I enjoy,
I greet the pie of mince;
And loving both while yet a boy,
Have loved them ever since.
More dull were I than any mule
That eyes did ever see,
If I should not remember Yule,
And Yule remember me.
_Anonymous._