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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508879" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Trapper's Christmas Eve</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's mighty lonesome-like and drear.<br>Above the Wild the moon rides high,<br>And shows up sharp and needle-clear<br>The emptiness of earth and sky;<br>No happy homes with love a-glow;<br>No Santa Claus to make believe:<br>Just snow and snow, and then more snow;<br>It's Christmas Eve, it's Christmas Eve.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And here am I where all things end,<br>And Undesirables are hurled;<br>A poor old man without a friend,<br>Forgot and dead to all the world;<br>Clean out of sight and out of mind . . .<br>Well, maybe it is better so;<br>We all in life our level find,<br>And mine, I guess, is pretty low.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet as I sit with pipe alight<br>Beside the cabin-fir<br>take to-night<br>The backward trail of fifty year.<br>The school-house and the Christmas tree;<br>The children with their cheeks a-glow;<br>Two bright blue eyes that smile on me . . .<br>Just half a century ago.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again (it's maybe forty years),<br>With faith and trust almost divine,<br>These same blue eyes, abrim with tears,<br>Through depths of love look into mine.<br>A parting, tender, soft and low,<br>With arms that cling and lips that cleave . . .<br>Ah me! it's all so long ago,<br>Yet seems so sweet this Christmas Eve.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just thirty years ago, again . . .<br>We say a bitter, last good-bye;<br>Our lips are white with wrath and pain;<br>Our little children cling and cry.<br>Whose was the fault? it matters not,<br>For man and woman both deceive;<br>It's buried now and all forgot,<br>Forgiven, too, this Christmas Eve.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And she (God pity me) is dead;<br>Our children men and women grown.<br>I like to think that they are wed,<br>With little children of their own,<br>That crowd around their Christmas tree . . .<br>I would not ever have them grieve,<br>Or shed a single tear for me,<br>To mar their joy this Christmas Eve.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stripped to the buff and gaunt and still<br>Lies all the land in grim distress.<br>Like lost soul wailing, long and shrill,<br>A wolf-howl cleaves the emptiness.<br>Then hushed as Death is everything.<br>The moon rides haggard and forlorn . . .<br>&quot;O hark the herald angels sing!&quot;<br>God bless all men -- it's Christmas morn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</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=508879" data-title="The Trapper's Christmas Eve de Robert William Service" data-description="It's mighty lonesome-like and drear.
Above the Wild the moon rides high,
And shows up sharp and needle-clear
The emptiness of earth and sky;
No happy homes with love a-glow;
No Santa Claus to make believe:
Just snow and snow, and then more snow;
I..."></div>
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