For I thought of the mirths of a thousand hearts,
Where the little ones watched for me.
So I gathered my sweets from far and near,
And I piled my cunningest toys
(Unheeding the swirls) for the innocent girls,
And the rollicking, roguish boys.
But the times have sobered and changed since then,
My merriment flags forlorn;
My beard is as white as on Christmas night
Of old was the Glaston thorn.