CHRISTMAS EVERY DAY.
Dear little Dorothy Dill MageeHad a very beautiful Christmas tree;And on it were hung the loveliest things,Dolls, and sashes, and gloves, and rings,Till nothing more, you would have thought,Could possibly have been wished or sought.But little Dorothy Dill Magee,Although delighted as she could be,Began to sob, to sniffle and cryBecause the day was so near passed by.“I wish it was always Christmas Day,”Little Dorothy Dill was heard to say.Then what did round old Santa doBut pop right in through the chimney flue,And say to Miss Dorothy Dill Magee“Just as you wish I will make it be:And I’ll tell every one of your friends and matesThat Christmas, to you, is of many dates.”So Dorothy Dill forgot to cry,And mourned no more when the day passed by,But went to bed to dream of all things,From dolls to fairies with gossamer wings.The following morning stockings hungBy the side of her bed, and toys were strungBeside the fire, and Dorothy DillJumped up to explore with a right good will.She had so many nice things that dayThat she could do nothing but play and play.But when night came with its Christmas treeShe was just as tired as she could be.She scarcely could open her sleepy eyes,And didn’t see half of her rich surprise.When Dorothy Dill again awokeThe bulging stockings were like a joke,A tiresome joke, and Dorothy sighedWith frowning brow at the gifts at her side.She looked them over but couldn’t play,And turkey and pudding at dinner that dayWeren’t good at all, and the Christmas treeThat night was horrid as it could be.The troubles that followed I couldn’t rehearse,For Dorothy’s Christmas grew worse and worse.She had so many sashes and rings,So many fine dresses and all such things,That closets and drawers couldn’t hold them all;She flung them on the floor of the hall,“I hate the sight of them all,” quoth she.And as for the turkey and Christmas tree,—“They’re the pest of my life,” Miss Dorothy cried,“I dread just the name of the Christmas tide.”The dolls of all sizes came by the dozensFrom uncles and aunts, from playmates and cousins.Little dolls, big dolls, china and wax,With dresses of reds and yellows and blacks.Under the tables, and chairs and bed,In closets, on stairs, those dolls were spread.She gave them, and gave them, and gave them away,And not with any of them could she play;And she was so tired of the Christmas treesShe wished they were covered in deepest seas.And as to the letters and words of thanks,—They crowded before her, ranks upon ranks,And begged to be written and said untilThey seemed her whole mind to crowd and fill.Now what Miss Dorothy Dill MageeDid with her every-day Christmas tree,And her every-day turkey, and pudding and pie,I never have heard; but let’s you and IBe just as thankful as we can beThat we have but one jolly Christmas tree.
Dear little Dorothy Dill MageeHad a very beautiful Christmas tree;And on it were hung the loveliest things,Dolls, and sashes, and gloves, and rings,Till nothing more, you would have thought,Could possibly have been wished or sought.But little Dorothy Dill Magee,Although delighted as she could be,Began to sob, to sniffle and cryBecause the day was so near passed by.“I wish it was always Christmas Day,”Little Dorothy Dill was heard to say.Then what did round old Santa doBut pop right in through the chimney flue,And say to Miss Dorothy Dill Magee“Just as you wish I will make it be:And I’ll tell every one of your friends and matesThat Christmas, to you, is of many dates.”So Dorothy Dill forgot to cry,And mourned no more when the day passed by,But went to bed to dream of all things,From dolls to fairies with gossamer wings.The following morning stockings hungBy the side of her bed, and toys were strungBeside the fire, and Dorothy DillJumped up to explore with a right good will.She had so many nice things that dayThat she could do nothing but play and play.But when night came with its Christmas treeShe was just as tired as she could be.She scarcely could open her sleepy eyes,And didn’t see half of her rich surprise.When Dorothy Dill again awokeThe bulging stockings were like a joke,A tiresome joke, and Dorothy sighedWith frowning brow at the gifts at her side.She looked them over but couldn’t play,And turkey and pudding at dinner that dayWeren’t good at all, and the Christmas treeThat night was horrid as it could be.The troubles that followed I couldn’t rehearse,For Dorothy’s Christmas grew worse and worse.She had so many sashes and rings,So many fine dresses and all such things,That closets and drawers couldn’t hold them all;She flung them on the floor of the hall,“I hate the sight of them all,” quoth she.And as for the turkey and Christmas tree,—“They’re the pest of my life,” Miss Dorothy cried,“I dread just the name of the Christmas tide.”The dolls of all sizes came by the dozensFrom uncles and aunts, from playmates and cousins.Little dolls, big dolls, china and wax,With dresses of reds and yellows and blacks.Under the tables, and chairs and bed,In closets, on stairs, those dolls were spread.She gave them, and gave them, and gave them away,And not with any of them could she play;And she was so tired of the Christmas treesShe wished they were covered in deepest seas.And as to the letters and words of thanks,—They crowded before her, ranks upon ranks,And begged to be written and said untilThey seemed her whole mind to crowd and fill.Now what Miss Dorothy Dill MageeDid with her every-day Christmas tree,And her every-day turkey, and pudding and pie,I never have heard; but let’s you and IBe just as thankful as we can beThat we have but one jolly Christmas tree.
Dear little Dorothy Dill MageeHad a very beautiful Christmas tree;And on it were hung the loveliest things,Dolls, and sashes, and gloves, and rings,Till nothing more, you would have thought,Could possibly have been wished or sought.But little Dorothy Dill Magee,Although delighted as she could be,Began to sob, to sniffle and cryBecause the day was so near passed by.“I wish it was always Christmas Day,”Little Dorothy Dill was heard to say.Then what did round old Santa doBut pop right in through the chimney flue,And say to Miss Dorothy Dill Magee“Just as you wish I will make it be:And I’ll tell every one of your friends and matesThat Christmas, to you, is of many dates.”So Dorothy Dill forgot to cry,And mourned no more when the day passed by,But went to bed to dream of all things,From dolls to fairies with gossamer wings.The following morning stockings hungBy the side of her bed, and toys were strungBeside the fire, and Dorothy DillJumped up to explore with a right good will.She had so many nice things that dayThat she could do nothing but play and play.But when night came with its Christmas treeShe was just as tired as she could be.She scarcely could open her sleepy eyes,And didn’t see half of her rich surprise.When Dorothy Dill again awokeThe bulging stockings were like a joke,A tiresome joke, and Dorothy sighedWith frowning brow at the gifts at her side.She looked them over but couldn’t play,And turkey and pudding at dinner that dayWeren’t good at all, and the Christmas treeThat night was horrid as it could be.The troubles that followed I couldn’t rehearse,For Dorothy’s Christmas grew worse and worse.She had so many sashes and rings,So many fine dresses and all such things,That closets and drawers couldn’t hold them all;She flung them on the floor of the hall,“I hate the sight of them all,” quoth she.And as for the turkey and Christmas tree,—“They’re the pest of my life,” Miss Dorothy cried,“I dread just the name of the Christmas tide.”The dolls of all sizes came by the dozensFrom uncles and aunts, from playmates and cousins.Little dolls, big dolls, china and wax,With dresses of reds and yellows and blacks.Under the tables, and chairs and bed,In closets, on stairs, those dolls were spread.She gave them, and gave them, and gave them away,And not with any of them could she play;And she was so tired of the Christmas treesShe wished they were covered in deepest seas.And as to the letters and words of thanks,—They crowded before her, ranks upon ranks,And begged to be written and said untilThey seemed her whole mind to crowd and fill.Now what Miss Dorothy Dill MageeDid with her every-day Christmas tree,And her every-day turkey, and pudding and pie,I never have heard; but let’s you and IBe just as thankful as we can beThat we have but one jolly Christmas tree.
Dear little Dorothy Dill Magee
Had a very beautiful Christmas tree;
And on it were hung the loveliest things,
Dolls, and sashes, and gloves, and rings,
Till nothing more, you would have thought,
Could possibly have been wished or sought.
But little Dorothy Dill Magee,
Although delighted as she could be,
Began to sob, to sniffle and cry
Because the day was so near passed by.
“I wish it was always Christmas Day,”
Little Dorothy Dill was heard to say.
Then what did round old Santa do
But pop right in through the chimney flue,
And say to Miss Dorothy Dill Magee
“Just as you wish I will make it be:
And I’ll tell every one of your friends and mates
That Christmas, to you, is of many dates.”
So Dorothy Dill forgot to cry,
And mourned no more when the day passed by,
But went to bed to dream of all things,
From dolls to fairies with gossamer wings.
The following morning stockings hung
By the side of her bed, and toys were strung
Beside the fire, and Dorothy Dill
Jumped up to explore with a right good will.
She had so many nice things that day
That she could do nothing but play and play.
But when night came with its Christmas tree
She was just as tired as she could be.
She scarcely could open her sleepy eyes,
And didn’t see half of her rich surprise.
When Dorothy Dill again awoke
The bulging stockings were like a joke,
A tiresome joke, and Dorothy sighed
With frowning brow at the gifts at her side.
She looked them over but couldn’t play,
And turkey and pudding at dinner that day
Weren’t good at all, and the Christmas tree
That night was horrid as it could be.
The troubles that followed I couldn’t rehearse,
For Dorothy’s Christmas grew worse and worse.
She had so many sashes and rings,
So many fine dresses and all such things,
That closets and drawers couldn’t hold them all;
She flung them on the floor of the hall,
“I hate the sight of them all,” quoth she.
And as for the turkey and Christmas tree,—
“They’re the pest of my life,” Miss Dorothy cried,
“I dread just the name of the Christmas tide.”
The dolls of all sizes came by the dozens
From uncles and aunts, from playmates and cousins.
Little dolls, big dolls, china and wax,
With dresses of reds and yellows and blacks.
Under the tables, and chairs and bed,
In closets, on stairs, those dolls were spread.
She gave them, and gave them, and gave them away,
And not with any of them could she play;
And she was so tired of the Christmas trees
She wished they were covered in deepest seas.
And as to the letters and words of thanks,—
They crowded before her, ranks upon ranks,
And begged to be written and said until
They seemed her whole mind to crowd and fill.
Now what Miss Dorothy Dill Magee
Did with her every-day Christmas tree,
And her every-day turkey, and pudding and pie,
I never have heard; but let’s you and I
Be just as thankful as we can be
That we have but one jolly Christmas tree.