The Christmas lights peal soft in the transparent airThey make of misty winter evenings, pulling
Heart-strings, easing reins on purses, fulfilling
The good will in their seasonable glare.
They have migrated like starlings to wait where,
In glittering patterns of high-wire trilling
Above the din of traffic, over-spilling
Shops, pointed and diffuse, they tune the air
With Christmastide. As swiftly as they came,
They must leave, but for now they will endure;
Too soon their influence wanes: too much the same
Experience ceases to exert the lure
For human fascination, called by name.
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