The Love Song of J. Ebenezer Scrooge, by T.S. Eliot
O donna in cui la mia speranza vige,
e che soffristi per la mia salute
in inferno lasciar le tue vestige,
di tante cose quant’ i’ ho vedute,
dal tuo podere e da la tua bontate
riconosco la grazia e la virtute.
Tu m’hai di servo tratto a libertate
per tutte quelle vie, per tutt’ i modi
che di ciò fare avei la potestate.
La tua magnificenza in me custodi,
sì che l’anima mia, che fatt’ hai sana,
piacente a te dal corpo si disnodi.
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like accounts coldly entered in a ledger;
Let us go, through Christmas Eve-deserted streets,
We’ll leave our balance sheets
Of debits and credits and interest owing.
Think not of what we reap, but what we’re sowing:
Streets that follow through the time of your days
Some thoughts to raise
To lead you to an overwhelming question…
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go,
Talking of reindeers and Ho Ho Ho.
The yellow light that pours forth from the window-panes
The joyful sounds that somehow reach through the window-panes
Joined by similar from all houses warm this evening,
A time of laughter and feasting, when happiness reigns
And covers the night, like snow that falls from heaven,
Blanketing all with beauty, would it could last!
And upon joining me this soft December night,
I’ll introduce myself. I am Christmas Past.
And indeed there was a time
When your merry laughter spilled along the street,
Echoing from walls and rooftops and window-panes;
There was a time, there was a time
You prepared a smile to greet the faces that you meet;
There was a time to work but also to play,
And time for buying gifts and making plans
That brightened friends’ and family’s Christmas Day
Time for you and time for me,
And time now for a hundred recollections,
And memories, thoughts, and hard reflections,
Before the taking of your breakfast tea.
In the room the women come and go,
Talking of reindeers and Ho Ho Ho.
But Spirit, that was a time
I wondered, “Was there more?” and “Was there more?”
A time I reflect upon, when my family was poor
And a gentleman in debt was something to abhor–
[They could say, “He’s a successful businessman!”]
My investing of funds wisely, making money as I can,
I know right to the penny when my ledger-books I scan–
[They will say, “He is greedy,” but it’s all part of my plan!]
Do I dare
Disturb this money drug?
In a minute there is time
To change a destiny, but could I? Should I? Bah humbug!
So you say you have a plan, you have a plan:–
You know the mornings, evenings, afternoons,
Of people now, whom your greediness impugns?
You know their obligations, how they scrape to pay a cent?
You must know that they are not, like you, tycoons.
I am the ghost of Christmas Present.
And you curse the beggars daily, curse them all:–
But let us observe the family Cratchit
There is Bob, and his wife, and crippled Tiny Tim
Picking at meagre rations, with his crutch against the wall.
Is it not grim
To see a working man barely able to provide?
So how dare you presume?
And know we’ll look and listen, listen and look:–
Hear their murmured blessing, see the sadness in their eye
[They are so very poor, with so little they can buy!]
Is someone smoking in here?
Ebenezer, tell me, is that a tear?
Lives are more than just numbers entered in a ledger-book.
So how dare you presume?
Spirit, I say, I have saved and husbanded my wealth,
And watched the waste when others squandered theirs
On silly things like wine and toys and garments of fine array.
I should have been a pair of lion’s paws
Stepping through the brush of silent savannah.
Cratchit’s poor quality, his goldbricking, makes me sour.
Checks sums upon his fingers;
He sleeps, he’s tired, he malingers
All while taking my money by the hour.
Should I, after seeing the Cratchit family’s vices
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
What benefit will a change of heart bring to me?
I can scratch my head [until it’s bald] and won’t puzzle this out.
I am no prophet–a fact I’ll gladly flout.
But am I now seeing moments yet to come?
Is that me lying there? Why is everything so glum?
Ah, this is Christmas Yet to Be.
I see this and ask, was it worth it after all?
Because Spirit, I see what you are showing me
'Tis a casket in a church, just a candle’s company,
No mourners, no priest, to attend to the dead?
Tell me Spirit, where they are. Is the funeral over? Have they fled?
Or were there ever any mourners at all?
Spirit, you are silent, but I’ve so many questions
I want to know who lies there, friendless and unmourned
That’s not my wish for my dying day, not at all
With not even a priest for comfort, lonely and forlorn.
No, again I say that’s not what I want at all,
That’s not what I want, at all.
Once more, I wonder–was it worth it after all?
Spirit, I fail to understand what you are showing me.
A darkened country churchyard, a grave, a simple stone–
Is it the dead man from the church, the one who was alone?
Let us approach, to read the name thus there engraved
Who was he, I wonder? Was he timid? Was he brave?
I’ll strike a match and read-- E-B-E … oh my God, that’s me!
I’m the one who died, who mourners left alone!
Oh Spirit now I understand the scenes to me you’ve shown.
But Spirit, again, I’ll say that’s not what I want at all,
No, that’s not what I want, at all.
No! I am not a miser, nor was meant to be.
Am perhaps parsimonious, one that will do
To cause an investor to give a thought or two
Advise on interest; no doubt an easy tool,
Warn against funding, if needed.
Should I try not to be at all monstrous
And hope that my counsel is heeded?
At times, indeed, should I be generous?
Or am I simply a Fool?
Cash is cold … I am old …
Perhaps for me the bell has tolled.
Shall I spend a dollar here? Do I dare to pay a fee?
I shall doff my banker’s visor and sit up in a tree.
I have heard the children singing, happily.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
Awake now, I see them walking in the snow upon the street
Laughing as they play their happy Christmas games
And I wonder if it’s possible that I was once the same?
“Boy! I need some help and here’s some money–
Buy the goose in the butcher’s; keep the change for your fun.”
And with luck, I’ll hear Tim say, “God bless us every one.”