I was working in the shop on Christmas presents and then thought to look for a bit of doggerel to attach to the thing itself, to express a certain feeling.
A happy thought came to me as I remembered (or, half remembered) this poem, which I then dutifully looked up.
And I was so taken with it, again, that I thought that I would share it with my imaginary friends.
Who, though they know it, as did I, might not remember it, as I did not.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Children's Hour
Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour.
I hear in the chamber above me The patter of little feet, The sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet.
From my study I see in the lamplight, Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair.
A whisper, and then a silence: Yet I know by their merry eyes They are plotting and planning together To take me by surprise.
A sudden rush from the stairway, A sudden raid from the hall! By three doors left unguarded They enter my castle wall!
They climb up into my turret O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me; They seem to be everywhere.
They almost devour me with kisses, Their arms about me entwine, Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!
Do you think, o blue-eyed banditti, Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old mustache as I am Is not a match for you all!
I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you down into the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart.
And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away!
Lordy, having children to please at Christmas is such a great gift.
Tom Watson - WoodDorker tjwatson1ATcomcastDOTnet (email)