In youth, I loved the Christmas season, when
Our neighbours all seemed kind and happy men;
Albeit no one saw, what came to pass,
To change our lot. We were of humble class
And in most ways, were surely then, alas,
As poor as we had been at Michaelmas;
And I confess indeed, I love it still,
As in my youth; the twelve days of good will,
When men forgo their strife and are resigned
Unto an attitude of being kind;
When malice sleeps and nations too assign
Some season other for their cause malign;
Or spare their wrath, until this one hath seen
Its close, unstained by slaughter and rapine.

Now you in garments coarse or raiment fine,
Who stay your mischief, of respect for time,
Do not, I pray, in waywardness, confine
My thought confessed to caprices of rhyme,
But list: if at the lathe or trading stocks,
You pay good heed to calendars and clocks,
'Tis well; but for your constant peace of mind,
Let these instruct you, also to be kind.