Lucilla slapt my hand that day
Of Christmas when she heard me say,
What she declared was like my folly,
“O for that little sprig of holly!
O for that holly sprig to wear
Within my bosom all the year!”
For I had noticed who it was
That shook its rime off on the grass.
I lept to snatch it from the ceiling;
It hung too high.. so, tottering, reeling,
A headlong fall I could not check,
But fell outright upon her neck.