GUESTS AT YULE
And the fiery planets drift,
Then from our commingled souls
Clouds of passion and of power,
Flames of incense, lift!
Come, for the world is turning
To meet the morning star!
Answer my spirit's yearning
And seek the arms that call thee from afar:
Let them close—ah, let them close
Around thee now, and lure thee to repose.
1878.
GUESTS AT YULE
Noël! Noël!
Thus sounds each Christmas bell
Across the winter snow.
But what are the little footprints all
That mark the path from the church-yard wall?
They are those of the children waked to-night
From sleep by the Christmas bells and light:
Ring sweetly, chimes! Soft, soft, my rhymes!
Their beds are under the snow.
Noël! Noël!
Carols each Christmas bell.
What are the wraiths of mist
That gather anear the window-pane
Where the winter frost all day has lain?
They are soulless elves, who fain would peer
Within, and laugh at our Christmas cheer:
Ring fleetly, chimes! Swift, swift, my rhymes!
They are made of the mocking mist.
Noël! Noël!
Cease, cease, each Christmas bell!
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