One of My All Time Favorite

Christmas poems by John Betjeman:









CHRISTMAS



The bells of waiting Advent ring, 

The Tortoise stove is lit again

And lamp-oil light across the night 

Has caught the streaks of winter rain

In many a stained-glass window sheen 

From Crimson Lake to Hooker’s Green. 



The holly in the windy hedge 

And round the Manor House the yew 

Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge, 

The altar, font and arch and pew, 

So that the villagers can say 

“The church looks nice” on Christmas Day. 



Provincial public houses blaze 

And Corporation tramcars clang, 

On lighted tenements I gaze 

Where paper decorations hang,

And bunting in the red Town Hall 

Says “Merry Christmas to you all.”



And London shops on Christmas Eve 

Are strung with silver bells and flowers 

As hurrying clerks the City leave 

To pigeon-haunted classic towers, 

And marbled clouds go scudding by 

The many-steepled London sky. 



And girls in slacks remember Dad, 

And oafish louts remember Mum, 

And sleepless children’s’ hearts are glad, 

And Christmas-morning bells say “Come!” 

Even to shining ones who dwell

Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.



And is it true? And is it true, 

This most tremendous tale of all, 

Seen in a stained-glass window’s hue, 

A Baby in an ox’s stall? 

The Maker of the stars and sea 

Become a Child on earth for me?



And is it true? For if it is, 

No loving fingers tying strings

Around those tissued fripperies, 

The sweet and silly Christmas things,

Bath salts and inexpensive scent

And hideous tie so kindly meant, 



No love that in a family dwells, 

Nor carolling in frosty air, 

Nor all the steeple-shaking bells 

Can with this single Truth compare-- 

That God was Man in Palestine 

And lives to-day in Bread and Wine.