A touch, a kiss! the charm was snapt.
There came a noise of striking clocks.
Twelve strokes! Aroused from slumber rapt,
The "Beauty" shook his silvery locks.
"What you again? My yearly call!
By Jove, how soundly I have slept!"
Then, with a laugh that shook the wall,
Unto his feet Old Christmas leapt.
"What! Twelve! 'Tis time that I awoke,
And to the waiting world appeared."
He yawned, and cracked his annual joke,
And ran his fingers through his beard.
"How say you? Is it slop or snow?"
She answered, "Come along, old chap!
We've much to do and far to go,
Ere you resume your annual nap."