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Rh Our ladies cower until it’s past in lawn and lace attire

I fancy I can picture you upon this Christmas night, Just sitting as you used to do, the laughter at its height; And then a sudden, silent pause intruding on your glee, And kind eyes glistening because you chanced to think of me.

This morning when I woke and knew ’twas Christmas come again, I almost fancied I could view white rime upon the pane, And hear the ringing of the wheels upon the frosty ground, And see the drip that downward steals in icy casket bound.

I daresay you’ll be on the lake, or sliding on the snow, And breathing on your hands to make the circulation flow, Nestling your nose among the furs of which your boa’s made,— The Fahrenheit here registers a hundred in the shade.

It is not quite a Christmas here with the unclouded sky,