Christmas Tree Lane

Christmas Tree Lane
by Cecil Cavendish

There are many fine streets
In this good town of mine.
There's Walnut and Willow,
Persimmon and Pine;
And Broad Road, and Broad Way
And High Street and Main-
But none I love better
Than Christmas-tree Lane.

You'll seek it in vain
In all seasons but one.
When snow-clouds are hiding
The pale winter sun,
And winds of December
Blow cold at the pane-
'T is then you'll be finding
This Christmas-tree Lane.

They come with their branches
Of holly so gay,
With garlands of ivy
And mistletoe spray;
And dozens of pine-trees
They bring in their train
To make the old market
A Christmas-tree Lane.

The sight and the scent
Of the sweet-smelling pine,
They set me to dreaming
An old dream of mine:
I'd buy all the pine-trees,
The high and the low,
And trim them with presents
For children I know.

Yes, deck all the branches
With candy and toys,
And send out a message
For good girls and boys.
I fancy I hear their
Glad carol's refrain
As slowly I wander
Down Christmas-tree Lane.