When gathering—well, well, no matter!
No more I'll hunt for mistletoe.
No more I'll stand and hold the ladder
For reverend gentlemen to mount.
Ah me! Few memories make me madder,
Though merrier ones I may not count.
Goose! How about those steps I'd linger!
Muff! How I bound my handkerchief
Last Christmas Eve, about his finger,
Pierced by that cruel holly-leaf!