HARD to wait for the postman's tramp <br />Up the snowy walk, for the hand that gropes <br />Deep in his pack, while the children tease <br />For the rainbow-ribboned packages, <br />And women wax faint with their fearful hopes <br />For those tattered, grimy envelopes <br />With the foreign stamp, <br />— Word, dear word from overseas, <br />From the fleet, the trench, the camp. <br />Oh, not jewels nor curious toys <br />Of art and fashion, no gift most rare <br />Can gladden those eyes that weep in the hush <br />Of lonely nights, can bring the flush <br />To faces white with their silent prayer, <br />Like the letters, precious beyond compare, <br />From our soldier-boys, <br />Letters to laugh over, cry over, crush <br />To the lips, our Christmas joys.<br /><br />Katharine Lee Bates<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-first-war-christmas/
