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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374006" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Christmas</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">WITH garlands to grace it, with laughter to greet it, <br>Christmas is here, holly-red and snow-white, <br>Hung round with quaint legends, and old-as-life stories <br>Of mystical beauty and lifelong delight; <br>With dreams of the Christ-child, with Santa Claus fables, <br>Without doubts to trouble or questions to break <br>The absolute faith in the triumph of goodness, <br>In God and in nature on guard for its sake; <br>Without fear of death, with no memories of grief, <br>Believing life clear as our cloudless belief; <br>What wonder if rose-coloured Christmas appear <br>As the happiest day of our happy child year? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>With the swiftness of thought, with the spring's incompleteness, <br>Childhood has passed, and its place is filled up; <br>Hope suns our youth into midsummer sweetness, <br>And the roses of love wreathe our life's golden cup. <br>We shall do--we shall dare--and our faith has no limit, <br>Wrong must go down 'neath the sword of the right <br>And life is so joyous, and may be so glorious, <br>And day looks so long, and so distant the night. <br>We love--there are chances--and if we should meet <br>The woman who holds all our heart at her feet <br>At Christmas--would that not make Christmas more dear <br>Than all other days of our love-lightened year? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>With the sadness of tears, with the speed of the swallow, <br>Youth has gone by, and its hope and its faith; <br>Love has grown into grief, and remembrance is anguish, <br>And down the dim years sound the footsteps of death. <br>There sit at our feast (for we still hold our revels) <br>The phantom of hope and the spectre of truth. <br>This life we believed in--how has it rewarded <br>The passionate faith of our long-ago youth? <br>Our hearth is deserted--our Christmas Day seems <br>But the ghost of a day from a lifetime of dreams. <br>Oh, lost voices that call us--we hear you--we hear! <br>Oh, most desolate day of our desolate year!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edith+Nesbit">Edith Nesbit</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374006" data-title="Christmas de Edith Nesbit" data-description="WITH garlands to grace it, with laughter to greet it, 
Christmas is here, holly-red and snow-white, 
Hung round with quaint legends, and old-as-life stories 
Of mystical beauty and lifelong delight; 
With dreams of the Christ-child, with Santa Cla..."></div>
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