‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the Square,
Not a creature was stirring; no bustle, no flair.
The wreaths were all hung ’round the lampposts with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The roundabouts circled, so smoothly they spun,
Where once there was traffic, now order was won.
Mayor Tannehill, with her vision so bright,
Had paved Oxford’s future with wisdom and might.

The students of Ole Miss were snug in their beds,
While visions of touchdowns danced in their heads.
And I with my Eagle, hot off the press,
Had settled in cozy, my heart full of rest.

When out on the Square there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the spires of our city so dear
Gave a luster of magic to the holiday cheer.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a sleigh pulled by Rebels, with Ole Miss gear!

With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than scooters, his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

“Now Manning! Now Vaught! Now Faulkner and Rowe!
On Hemingway! On Square Books! To the roundabout go!
To the top of the Lyceum, to City Hall’s wall,
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

As autumn leaves swirl in the brisk Southern sky,
When they meet with a breeze and take off to fly,
So up to the rooftops the Rebels they flew,
With a sleigh full of gifts and St. Nicholas 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 St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in red, from his head to his boots,
With an Oxford scarf tied in festive cahoots.
A bundle of treasures he’d flung on his back,
And he looked like a trader at the holiday market pack.

His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were as rosy as a winter Square cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And his beard was as white as a layer of snow.

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
And filled every stocking, then turned with a smirk.
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 cheer,
And away they all flew, like a game-day crowd’s roar near.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas, Oxford! To all, a good night!”