That gather anear the window-pane
Where the winter frost all day has lain?
They are soulless elves, who fain would peer
Within, and laugh at our Christmas cheer:
Ring fleetly, chimes! Swift, swift, my rhymes!
They are made of the mocking mist.
Nöel! Nöel!
Cease, cease, each Christmas bell!
Under the holly bough,
Where the happy children throng and shout,