A Visit from St. Laurent

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the flat
Not an accessory was stirring, not a purse nor a hat
The bright tights were hung from the chimney with care
In hopes that Yves St Laurent soon would be there
The bloggers were nestled all snug in their beds
With visions of vintage frocks by Edith Head
And Anna in her hair bow, and I in my dots
Had just settled down for a rest from blogspot
When out on the closet there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Out of the bed I ran to my trousseaus
Threw open the doors and peered at the clothes

The moon on the neat rows of dresses and shoes
Made them glimmer like snow on a row of igloos
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature shoe, pulled by reindeer,
With a little old driver, so smooth and gallant,
I knew in a moment it must be Laurent.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Calvin! now, Coco! now, Christian and Donna!
On, Oscar! on Andre! on, Grace C and Anna!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of clothes, and Yves St Laurent too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Yves St Laurent came with a bound.
He was dressed in suit, from his head to his toe,
And his suit was all tailored to best Savile Row.
A bundle of clothes he had flung on his back,
And he looked like Vogue's editor opening his pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And his tuxedo shirt was as white as the snow.

Thick glasses of black sat proud on his face,
As he laid out his gifts made of satin and lace.
He had a sweet face and a proud dapper air,
And what seemed like an endless supply of footwear.

He was slender and lean, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the bright tights; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.


He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”