Into my disappointment-cup
The snowflakes fell and blocked the road,
And so I thought I'd finish up
The latest style of Christmas ode;
When she, the charming little lass
With eyes as bright as isinglass,
Before a line my pen had wrought
In strange attire came bounding in,
As if she had with Bruno fought,
And robbed him of his shaggy skin.

She came to me robed _cap-a-pie_
In her bewitching 'blanket-suit,'
In moccasin and toggery,
All ready for 'that icy chute,'
And asked me if I thought she'd do;
I shake with love of mischief true:
'For what?--a polar bear?--why, yes!'
'No, no!' she said, with half a pout.
'Why, one would think so, by your dress--
Say, does your mother know you're out?'

'No, I'm not out,' she said, and sighed;
'Because the storm so wildly raged--
But for the first delightful ride
For half a year I've been engaged.'
'Engaged to what?--an Esquimau?
To ride a glacier, or a floe?'
'Why, don't you know'--her color glowed,
In expectation all agog--
'The reason why I'm glad it snowed?
Because--I'm going to tobog.'