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Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - The Christmas-Bo
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THIS box, mine own sweet darling, thou wilt find
With many a varied sweetmeat`s form supplied;
The fruits are they of holy Christmas tide,
But baked indeed, for children`s use design`d.
I`d fain, in speeches sweet with skill combin`d,
Poetic sweetmeats for the feast provide;
But why in such frivolities confide?
Perish the thought, with flattery to blind!
One sweet thing there is still, that from within,
Within us speaks,—that may be felt afar;
This may be wafted o`er to thee alone.
If thou a recollection fond canst win,
As if with pleasure gleam`d each well-known star,
The smallest gift thou never wilt disown.
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