Part II.
Hail you wondrous Christmas Eve,
You holiday of myth,
What varied gifts you bring each one
To recollect you with?
To the master, Christmas bread,
Fodder to his cattle,
To the rooster, garlic spread,
Peas to hens which prattle.
To the fruit-trees in the grove
Bones from the repast,
Gold reflections on the wall
To him who keeps the fast.
***
Oh, I am a youthful maid
With heart as yet untaken,
In my restless, care-free mind
Other thoughts awaken.
Yonder, where the forest ends
And the sluice-gate forms a gap,
Venerable willows stand
Each crowned with a snowy cap.
One of these, a gnarled old tree
Wearily is nodding
Downward, where beneath the ice
The cold blue lake is plodding.
There, they say, when midnight comes
And the moon shines bright above,
Within the waters’ depth appears
A maiden’s future love.
***
Midnight does not frighten me,
I scoff at superstition,
With an axe I’ll chop the ice
And fulfill my mission.
Deep into the icy waves
I’ll gaze with hopeful eyes,
My destined lover to behold
Where his image mirrored lies.
32
