THE CHIMNEY SWALLOW
One night as I sat by my table,
Tired of books and pen,
With wandering thoughts far straying
Out into the world of men;—
That world where the busy workers
Such magical deeds are doing,
Each one with a steady purpose
His own pet plans pursuing;
Tired of books and pen,
With wandering thoughts far straying
Out into the world of men;—
That world where the busy workers
Such magical deeds are doing,
Each one with a steady purpose
His own pet plans pursuing;
When the house was wrapt in silence,
And the children were all asleep,
And even the mouse in the wainscot
Had ceased to run and leap,
All at once from the open chimney
Came a hum and a rustle and whirring,
That startled me out of my dreaming,
And set my pulses stirring.
And the children were all asleep,
And even the mouse in the wainscot
Had ceased to run and leap,
All at once from the open chimney
Came a hum and a rustle and whirring,
That startled me out of my dreaming,
And set my pulses stirring.
What was it? I paused and listened;
The roses were all in bloom,
And in from the garden floated
The violet's rich perfume.
So it could not be Kriss Kringle,
For he only comes, you know,
When the Christmas bells are chiming,
And the hills are white with snow.
The roses were all in bloom,
And in from the garden floated
The violet's rich perfume.
So it could not be Kriss Kringle,
For he only comes, you know,
When the Christmas bells are chiming,
And the hills are white with snow.
