Over your bed let the Yew-bough fall,
“Close by the cradle the Christmas Fir,
For elfin dreams in its branches stir,
“Last and loveliest, high and low,
From ceil to floor let the Ivy go.”
From each glad guest I received my gift
And then the latch of my door did lift—
“Green singers, God prosper the song ye make
As ye sing to the world for Christ’s sweet Sake.”
Eleanor Farjeon