I had fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in delight, Snapped their saucy little fingers at the Chill December night; And in dressing gown And Slippers I had tilted back “My throne .” — The old split-bottomed Rocker, And was musing all alone . I can hear the hungry Winter prowling Round the outer door, And the tread of muffled footsteps on the white piazza floor; But the sounds Came to me only as the murmur of a stream That mingled with the current of a lazy flowing dream. Like a fragrant incense rising, Curled the smoke of my cigar, With the lamp light gleaning through it, Like a mist-enfolded star; — And as I gazed, The vapor like a curtain rolled away, With a sound of bells That tinkled, And the clatter of a sleigh. And in a vision Painted like a picture in the…