This Box, Mine Own Sweet Darling, Thou Wilt Find With Many A Varied Sweetmeat'S Form Supplied; The Fruits Are They Of Holy Christmas Tide, But Baked Indeed, For Children'S Use Design'D. I'd Fain, In Speeches Sweet With Skill Combin'D, Poetic Sweetmeats For The Feast Provide; But Why In Such Frivolities Confide? Perish The Thought, With Flattery To Blind! One Sweet Thing There Is Still, That From Within, Within Us Speaks, That May Be Felt Afar; This May Be Wafted O'Er To Thee Alone. If Thou A Recollection Fond Canst Win, As If With Pleasure Gleam'D Each Well-Known Star, The Smallest Gift Thou Never Wilt Disown.