The holiest of holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart.
I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart, When the full river of feeling overflows;- The happy days unclouded to their close; The sudden joys that our of darkness start As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!
The secret anniversaries of the heart.
In the mouths of many men soft words are like roses that soldiers put into the muzzles of their muskets on holidays.
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