The bells of waiting Advent ring, <br />The Tortoise stove is lit again <br />And lamp-oil light across the night <br />Has caught the streaks of winter rain <br />In many a stained-glass window sheen <br />From Crimson Lake to Hookers Green. <br /> <br /> <br />The holly in the windy hedge <br />And round the Manor House the yew <br />Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge, <br />The altar, font and arch and pew, <br />So that the villagers can say <br />'The church looks nice' on Christmas Day. <br /> <br />Provincial Public Houses blaze, <br />Corporation tramcars clang, <br />On lighted tenements I gaze, <br />Where paper decorations hang, <br />And bunting in the red Town Hall <br />Says 'Merry Christmas to you all'. <br /> <br />And London shops on Christmas Eve <br />Are strung with silver bells and flowers <br />As hurrying clerks the City leave <br />To pigeon-haunted classic towers, <br />And marbled clouds go scudding by <br />The many-steepled London sky. <br /> <br />And girls in slacks remember Dad, <br />And oafish louts remember Mum, <br />And sleepless children's hearts are glad. <br />And Christmas-morning bells say 'Come!' <br />Even to shining ones who dwell <br />Safe in the Dorchester Hotel. <br /> <br />And is it true, <br />This most tremendous tale of all, <br />Seen in a stained-glass window's hue, <br />A Baby in an ox's stall ? <br />The Maker of the stars and sea <br />Become a Child on earth for me ? <br /> <br />And is it true ? For if it is, <br />No loving fingers tying strings <br />Around those tissued fripperies, <br />The sweet and silly Christmas things, <br />Bath salts and inexpensive scent <br />And hideous tie so kindly meant, <br /> <br />No love that in a family dwells, <br />No carolling in frosty air, <br />Nor all the steeple-shaking bells <br />Can with this single Truth compare - <br />That God was man in Palestine <br />And lives today in Bread and Wine.<br /><br />John Betjeman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/christmas-114/
