The Art of
Cicely Mary Barker
The
little Christmas Tree was born And dwelt in open air; It did not guess how bright a dress Some day its boughs would wear; Brown cones were all, it thought, a tall And grown-up Fir would bear. O little Fir! Your forest home Is far and far away; here indoors these boughs of yours With coloured balls are gay, With candle-light, and tinsel bright, For this is Christmas Day! A dolly-fairy stands on top, Till children sleep; then she (A live one now!) from bough to bough Goes gliding silently, O magic sight, this joyous night! O laden, sparkling tree! |