Christmas Is The Glorious Time

Night's Deepest Gloom Is But A Calm; That Soothes The Weary Mind: The Labored Days Restoring Balm; The Comfort Of Mankind.

Central Depth Of Purple, Leaves More Bright Than Rose, Who Shall Tell What Brightest Thought Out Of Darkness Grows? Who, Through What Funereal Pain, Souls To Love And Peace Attain? - Leigh Hunt (james Henry Leigh Hunt

Nature, At All Events, Humanly Speaking, Is Manifestly Very Fond Of Color; For She Has Made Nothing Without It. Her Skies Are Blue; Her Fields, Green; Her Waters Vary With Her Skies; Her Animals, Vegetables, Minerals, Are All Colored. She Paints A Great Any Of Them In Apparently Superfluous Hues, As If To Show The Dullest Eye How She Loves Color.

Stolen Sweets Are Always Sweeter, Stolen Kisses Much Completer, Stolen Looks Are Nice In Chapels, Stolen, Stolen Be Your Apples.

The Fish Is Swift, Small-needing, Vague Yet Clear, A Cold, Sweet, Silver Life, Wrapped In Round Waves.