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(A Christmas
Circular Letter)
The city had withdrawn into
itself
And left at last the country to the country;
When between whirls of snow not come to lie
And
whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove
A
stranger to our yard, who looked the city,
Yet did in
country fashion in that there
He sat and waited till
he drew us out
A-buttoning coats to ask him who he
was.
He proved to be the city come again
To look
for something it had left behind
And could not do
without and keep its Christmas.
He asked if I would
sell my Christmas trees;
My woods-the young fir
balsams like a place
Where houses all are churches
and have spires.
I hadn't thought of them as
Christmas Trees.
I doubt if I was tempted for a
moment
To sell them off their feet to go in cars
And leave the slope behind the house all bare,
Where
the sun shines now no warmer than the moon.
I'd hate
to have them know it if I was.
Yet more I'd hate to
hold my trees except
As others hold theirs or refuse
for them,
Beyond the time of profitable growth,
The trial by market everything must come to.
I
dallied so much with the thought of selling.
Then
whether from mistaken courtesy
And fear of seeming
short of speech, or whether
From hope of hearing good
of what was mine,
I said, "There aren't enough to be
worth while."
"I could soon tell how many they would
cut,
You let me look them over."
"You could
look.
But don't expect I'm going to let you have
them."
Pasture they spring in, some in clumps too
close
That lop each other of boughs, but not a few
Quite solitary and having equal boughs
All round and
round. The latter he nodded "Yes" to,
Or paused to
say beneath some lovelier one,
With a buyer's
moderation, "That would do."
I thought so too, but
wasn't there to say so.
We climbed the pasture on the
south, crossed over,
And came down on the north.
He said, "A thousand."
"A thousand Christmas
trees!-at what apiece?"
He felt some need of
softening that to me:
"A thousand trees would come to
thirty dollars."
Then I was certain I had never
meant
To let him have them. Never show surprise!
But thirty dollars seemed so small beside
The extent
of pasture I should strip, three cents
(For that was
all they figured out apiece),
Three cents so small
beside the dollar friends
I should be writing to
within the hour
Would pay in cities for good trees
like those,
Regular vestry-trees whole Sunday Schools
Could hang enough on to pick off enough.
A thousand
Christmas trees I didn't know I had!
Worth three
cents more to give away than sell,
As may be shown by
a simple calculation.
Too bad I couldn't lay one in a
letter.
I can't help wishing I could send you
one,
In wishing you herewith a Merry Christmas.
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