Melchior rides from door to door,
Large Christmas doles he seeks;
A pannier wide receives the store,
Yet never a word he speaks!
The nougat bells so merrily ring
Yet never a note he hears;
He gathers the gifts the good folk bring,
And onward still he steers.
The children laugh, and the children chaff,
He sits so stiff and straight,
And grandpere waves, with his thorn-tree staff,
A greeting at the gate!
Olives and almonds, and cheese and bread,
And the pack on his back grows stout!
Let the hungry poor to their fill be fed,
While the nougat bells ring out.
Thus, Melchior rides from door to door,
Seeking of all his fee;
And their presents into his pannier pour,
Yet never a whit cares he!
For a wicker-work man is Melchior droll,
A wicker-work man, and no more;
But the people love him, with heart and soul,
As he rides from door to door!