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Note moyenne 4 /5 (sur 24 notes)

Nationalité : États-Unis
Né(e) à : New-york , le 15/07/1779
Mort(e) à : Newport , le 10/07/1863
Biographie :

Clement Clarke Moore est l'auteur du poème A Visit from St Nicholas, lequel a largement contribué à forger le canon moderne de la légende du père Noël dans sa version américaine.

Source : wikipedia
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Nastasia-B   24 décembre 2013
La mystérieuse nuit de Noël de Clement Clarke Moore
C'était la nuit de Noël, et dans la grande maison, on n'entendait pas un bruit, pas même la plus petite souris. Les chaussettes avaient été soigneusement accrochées au manteau de la cheminée, dans l'espoir que le Père Noël ne tarderait pas à passer. Les enfants se pelotonnaient dans leur lit douillet, rêvant déjà farandoles de bonbons et dragées. Ma femme ajustait sa charlotte, et moi mon bonnet. Nous étions prêts pour une longue nuit d'hiver.

Soudain monta du jardin un tel chahut que je sautai à bas de mon lit pour voir ce qu'il était advenu.



('Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads,

And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap —

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.)
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Commenter  J’apprécie          190
ladyoga   24 décembre 2013
La nuit de Noël de Clement Clarke Moore
Il est si joufflu, ce vieux lutin joyeux,

qu'à le voir, j'ai envie de rire.

D'un clin d'œil et d'un signe de tête,

il m'indique que je n'ai rien à craindre.

Et sans un mot, il se met au travail,

et remplit tous les bas. Soudain, il se retourne,

Pose un doigt sur la bouche,

Me fait un petit signe, et remonte dans la cheminée.

Puis il saute dans son traîneau, siffle son attelage,

et tous s'envolent à la vitesse de l'éclair.
Commenter  J’apprécie          30
Clement Clarke Moore
alicejo   09 décembre 2011
Clement Clarke Moore
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;



The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;



The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;



And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,



When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed 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 breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,



When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,



With a little, old driver so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.



More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;



"Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen

On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen!



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 a sleigh full of toys, 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 fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;



A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just 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 the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;



The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;



He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.



He was chubby and plump, 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 stocking; 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
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