A Dame who dwelt near was the only one who knew
That every year upon his head the Christmas berries grew;
And when the Dame cut them, she said--it was her whim--
"A merry Christmas to you, Sir!" _and left a bit for him_.

"Oh, Granny dear, tell us," the children cried, "where we
May find the shining Mistletoe that grows upon the tree?"
At length the Dame told them, but cautioned them to mind
To greet the Willow civilly, _and leave a bit behind_.

"Who cares," said the children, "for this old Willow-man?
We'll take the Mistletoe, and he may catch us if he can."
With rage the ancient Willow shakes in every limb,
For they have taken all, and _have not left a bit for him_!

Then bright gleamed the holly, the Christmas berries shone,
But in the wintry wind without the Willow-man did moan:
"Ungrateful, and wasteful! the mystic Mistletoe
A hundred years hath grown on me, but never more shall grow."

A year soon passed by, and the children came once more,
But not a sprig of Mistletoe the aged Willow bore.
Each slender spray pointed; he mocked them in his glee,
And chuckled in his wooden heart, that ancient Willow-tree.

MORAL.

Oh, children, who gather the spoils of wood and wold,
From selfish greed and wilful waste your little hands withhold.