DECEMBER
Proudly beams the Christmas Tree
In its tinsel finery.
Round and round in sprightly pairs
Children dance to old-time airs—
Though they laugh they make no sound;
Dancing, still they tread no ground.
Naught but airy phantoms they
Of a vanished Christmas Day,
Ancient playmates found again
In a smoke wreath's purple skein,
And they whisper in my ear,
"Does Christmas still come once a year?"
