The holly-bough glistens, the earth is all white,
In the jubilant heavens the Star is a-light.
May I sit by your hearthstone once more, as of old?
My story—a brief one—shall quickly be told.
We bring you no Sèvres nor Japanese Kaga,
But only an innocent kind of a dagger.
(Allow me a few editorial “we’s,”
The plural is handy in rhymes such as these.)
The blade is no marvel, ’tis not Muramasa—