The Christmas-Box

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.