Poetry Archives

This life’s most jolly, Amiens said,
Heigh-ho, the Holly!  So sang he.
As the good Duke was comforted
In forest exile, so may we!
The years may darken as they flee,
And Christmas bring his melancholy:
But round the old mahogany tree
We drink, we sing Heigh-ho, the Holly!

Though some are dead and some are fled
To lands of summer over sea,
The holly berry keeps his red,
The merry children keep their glee;
They hoard with artless secresy
This gift for Maude, and that for Molly,
And Santa Claus he turns the key
On Christmas Eve, Heigh-ho, the Holly!

Amid the snow the birds are fed,
The snow lies deep on lawn and lea,
The skies are shining overhead,
The robin’s tame that was so free.
Far North, at home, the ‘barley bree’
They brew; they give the hour to folly,
How ‘Rab and Allan cam to pree,’
They sing, we sing Heigh-ho, the Holly!

ENVOI

Friend, let us pay the wonted fee,
The yearly tithe of mirth:  be jolly!
It is a duty so to be,
Though half we sigh, Heigh-ho, the Holly!