CHRISTMAS EVE ON NANTUCKET.

For half an hour tonight we wander Through the streets, And see the Christmas trees against the lighted pane; And catch child voices raised in glee and hear Street singers chanting carols loud and free Then a bell tone, and then the far-off sea. We turn a corner and we pass a house Whence strains of music come, “Minuit Chrétians—” They will be singing that in Paris tonight! From a side gate a scarlet figure booted, slips with bells Jingling; some amateur Santa Claus late for festival. Here a bright voiced smiling woman hurries along To the dim lighted church, bearing a hemlock wreath Made by her hands. Upon white panelled doors hang other wreaths Woven from ground pine near Wannacomet Pond. And scarlet berries blaze In window boxes bare of summer flowers But now made Holiday. Another narrow street, and here the candles shine Ranging along the pane in a white row, Lovely immaculates of memory. And in another window a small figure A dainty mandarin poised in Chinoise grace Beneath some mistletoe! And in one window more an old white head Is bent over some early coming gift Brought by the letter carrier From children far away. Late! Yet a few steps further, where the narrow lane Turns to the moors. There in December skies Tender with Christmas memories of years on years, Hangs in its winter white, The Evening Star!