Twas the Night Before Christmas
（第一首关於圣诞老人传说的诗，是现在家喻户晓、圣诞夜必读的诗）
Clement Clarke Moore (1799 - 1863)
圣诞节前夜 家里好安静，
就连小老鼠 都不出声音。
一排长袜子 稳挂烟囱旁，
圣尼古拉斯 就要来拜访。
孩子们蜷缩 暖暖被窝里，
满脑子想著 糖球的滋味。
妈妈围头巾 我则带睡帽，
刚刚要消停 长长睡一觉。
忽然前院中 响起喀喀声，
我忙爬起身 看看啥事情。
迅速如闪电 我冲到窗前，
打开百叶栅 推起玻璃扇。
月光一泄倾 宽阔新雪上，
万物亮莹莹 白天一个样。
好奇我眼睛 看到啥事物？
雪橇迷你型 八只小驯鹿。
小老头驾车 神气快如梭，
我立刻就知 那是圣尼克。
驯鹿尊他令 飞驰赛秃鹰，
他打著呼哨 高喊驯鹿名。
「驾，飞腿、舞娘！驾，腾子、狐仙！
快，彗星、爱神！快，迅雷、闪电！
飞上那门廊，飞上那高墙！
现在快飞离！个个都跟上！「
就像飓风来 枯叶忽飞旋，
一旦遇阻碍 就会冲上天。
驯鹿们一冲 就上屋顶子，
雪橇载玩具 和圣尼古拉斯。
然後一眨眼 从我家房顶，
传来小蹄子 起落的声音。
我忙缩回头 转身去探寻，
烟囱出物品 圣尼克现身。
他从头到脚 穿一身皮毛，
衣服脏乎乎 沾了烟灰草。
他背上扛著 一大袋玩具，
像个小贩子 准备摆生意。
他眼睛亮如星 酒窝溢出笑！
他脸蛋玫瑰红 鼻子像樱桃！
他小嘴滑稽翘 弯成弓一样，
他胡子白如雪 挂在下巴上。
他间齿叼含 一个大烟斗，
冒出的烟圈 像花环绕头。
他脸盤宽宽 肚子圆隆隆，
笑起来颤颤 像一碗果冻。
他又胖又喜乐 老精灵一个，
我看著忍不住 失礼笑呵呵。
他朝我挤个眼 同时头一摆，
示意我放松 别大惊小怪。
他一句话不说 立刻就工作，
每一个长袜 都塞得满活。
他转身在鼻头 竖起一指头，
再冲我点个头 顺烟囱爬走。
他跳进雪橇 打了个呼哨，
一队人马去 像蓟花种子飘。
就在消失前 只听他大喊，
圣诞节快乐！祝大家晚安！
圣诞夜屋里诸生安宁
连小老鼠也不见动静。
圣诞袜精心挂在壁炉旁
就盼圣尼古拉斯快来访
孩子们已上床钻进了被窝
满脑的糖果眼前欢舞起落
妈妈戴着头巾我也戴睡帽
刚安顿下来准备睡个好觉
突然外面草坪上叮当一阵
从床上窜起我想看个究竟
我飞向窗口讯如电闪
扒开窗栅掀起了窗扇
月光沐浴新雪更丰腴
明亮如白昼万物辉映
双眼疑惑正四顾
驶入眼帘小雪橇, 晶莹剔透八驯鹿
驾车的是个小老头, 活灵活现又迅速
这定是圣尼克, 我一看便顿悟
他座驾飞驰赛雄鹰
他打着呼哨吆着名
快啊, 驰哥! 快啊,舞妹! 快, 跃仔和妖娘!
冲啊, 彗星! 冲啊, 丘比特! 冲, 迅雷和闪光!
飞上门廊飞上墙!
飞吧冲吧! 向前方!
就像残叶乘狂风,
枯叶遇阻向天冲
雪橇飞驰上屋脊
载着满满的玩具, 还有圣尼古拉斯。
忽听屋顶闹腾腾
那是小蹄嘚嘚声
正当我回头转过身来
圣尼克从烟囱蹦下来
他从头到脚着皮毛
衣服上全是烟煤垢
一大袋玩具挂身后
看上去就像个小贩子, 正忙着打开他的包口
他的眼睛晶晶亮, 他的酒窝微微笑
他的脸颊像玫瑰, 他的鼻子像樱桃
抿嘴弯弯像箭弓
下颚胡须似雪绒
一根烟斗齿间含
烟圈绕头如花环
他宽宽的脸庞圆圆的肚
好像一碗胶果冻, 随着笑声直颤动
老精灵又圆又胖无烦恼
看见他我就忍不住地笑
他挤眉弄眼摆摆头
很快我明白无需忧
他一言不发便干活儿
装满所有的圣诞袜, 突然一个急转身儿
手指轻放鼻翼旁
点头便顺烟囱上
他一跃上了小雪橇, 哨声未落众鹿起
如蓟草花絮随风去
踪影渐无一声喊:
祝大家圣诞快乐, 祝大家都晚安!
圣诞前夜，万物寂静;
猫鼠无声，家人有情;
袜悬炉前，静待圣人亲临幸。
儿童入寝，舒适安静;
糖果舞蹈，旋入梦境;
睡帽头巾，高枕安卧冬夜宁。
窗外异响，降落草坪;
梦中惊醒，飞奔窗棂;
推扇卷帘，夜色阑珊无人惊。
新雪明月，万物晶莹;
唯有一物，弹眼落睛;
精壮驯鹿，八驾橇车雪中行。
老汉驾驭, 快活捷敏;
圣尼克令，众鹿听命;
哨起声至，座驾驯服有其名。
跑跳腾越，尽入鹿名;
雌狐天使，亦宜号令;
登墙跃顶，风驰电掣快无形。
枯叶乘风，舞上天穹;
群鹿齐跃，屋脊飞纵;
雪橇满载，圣者尼克礼物众。
速移屋顶，鹿蹄声急;
余即回首，圣者已至;
烟道现身，尼古拉斯囊橐实。
披裘负重，衣染灰渍;
探囊取物，儿童欢喜;
行若商贩，圣者开袋礼物齐。
双目闪亮，笑靥玫红;
樱桃红鼻，弯口如弓;
长须如雪，颌下飘展美髯公。
口含烟斗，云山雾罩;
脸宽体胖，弥勒福兆;
声朗肉颤，酷似果冻开口笑。
圆胖喜庆，精灵古怪;
忍俊不住，我笑开怀;
眨眼摆头，免我惊恐休见外。
言语无多，即刻分派;
一众长袜，均得礼彩;
事毕回转，耸鼻颔首烟道迨。
纵身雪橇，朋呼友哨;
人马飞逝，如蓟花飘;
圣诞快乐，人去声留祝安好！
Twas the Night Before Christmas
Clement Clarke Moore (1799 - 1863)
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONNER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!
Clement Clarke Moore (1799 - 1863) came from a prominent family and his father Benjamin Moore was the Bishop of New York who was famous for officiating at the inauguration of George Washington. The tradition of reading Twas the night before Christmas poem on Christmas Eve is now a Worldwide institution and tradition.
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