The white ox knelt within his littered stall,
And voices strange and sweet were heard through heaven to call!
We were three children—René, Pierre, Annette.
The little sister listened, wonder-eyed;
Each held her hand (that touch, I feel it yet!),
And all three drank those tales of Christmas tide.
The leaden-footed time how shall we bide?
How many days and hours we know full well,
Almost the little minutes that divide!
Meanwhile, like music of a hidden bell,