A Feel in the Chris'Mas-Air

James Whitcomb Riley

1883

They's a kind o' _feel_ in the air, to me.

When the Chris'mas-times sets in.

That's about as much of a mystery
As ever I've run ag'in! --
Fer instunce, now, whilse I gain in weight
And gineral health, I swear
They's a _goneness_ somers I can't quite state --
A kind o' _feel_ in the air.

They's a feel in the Chris'mas-air goes right
To the spot where a man _lives_ at! --
It gives a feller a' appetite --
They ain't no doubt about _that_! --
And yit they's _somepin_' -- I don't know what --
That follers me, here and there,
And ha'nts and worries and spares me not --
A kind o' feel in the air!

They's a _feel_, as I say, in the air that's jest
As blame-don sad as sweet! --
In the same ra-sho as I feel the best
And am spryest on my feet,
They's allus a kind o' sort of a' _ache_
That I can't lo-cate no-where; --
But it comes with _Chris'mas_, and no mistake! --
A kind o' feel in the air.

Is it the racket the childern raise? --
W'y, _no_! -- God bless 'em! -- _no_! --
Is it the eyes and the cheeks ablaze --
Like my _own_ wuz, long ago? --
Is it the bleat o' the whistle and beat
O' the little toy-drum and blare
O' the horn? -- _No! no! _ -- it is jest the sweet --
The sad-sweet feel in the air.

End of title

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