T'was the night before Christmas,
A beloved poem that most of us know,
And some actually think it's English.
Well,
It was written in English,
But oddly enough,
When I managed a bar in Chelsea,
In New York City,
There was a place where a lot of people had come through.
One of them was David Byrne,
Was of notoriety,
And he used to hang out at that bar.
Then I found out some of its history,
That that place had been attributed to being the place where Clement Clark Moore wrote T'was the Night Before Christmas,
And his friend dropped it off two days before Christmas,
And it was published and became an instant hit.
Now,
It's been debated if he's actually the one who was the author,
But as it stands now,
Clement Clark Moore is attributed to writing T'was the Night Before Christmas at the very place where I had worked and heard many stories.
T'was the night before Christmas when all through the house not a creature was stirring,
Not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that St.
Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.
And Mama in her car chest and my in my cap,
I just settled down for a long winter's nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave the lustre of midday to objects below.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear but a miniature sled and eight tiny reindeer?
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St.
Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
Now Dasher!
Now Dancer!
Now Prancer and Vixen!
On Comet!
On Cupid!
On Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch!
To the top of the wall!
Now dash away!
Dash away!
Dash away all!
Ho ho ho!
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky,
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew with a sled full of toys and St.
Nicholas too.
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof,
As I drew in my hand and was turning around,
Down the chimney St.
Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes how they twinkled,
His dimples how merry,
His cheeks were like roses,
His nose like a cherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of his pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly that shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was tubby and plump,
A right jolly old elf,
And he laughed when I saw him in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work and filled all the stockings,
Then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose and giving a nod,
Up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sled,
To his team he gave a whistle,
And away they flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim ere he drove out of sight,
Happy Christmas to all,
And to all a good night.
So Merry Christmas to you all and to all a good night.
