Clarksville, TN – Few holiday traditions are as cherished as reading “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” on Christmas Eve, but the story behind the poem is just as magical as the verses themselves. Officially titled A Visit from St. Nicholas, the poem was written more than 200 years ago and went on to forever change how the world imagines Santa Claus.
In the winter of 1822, Clement Clarke Moore, a respected New York City scholar and professor of theology, was returning home from a holiday shopping trip. According to family lore, he had just purchased a turkey for the Christmas feast when a snowy ride through the village sparked his imagination. Moore began envisioning St. Nicholas not as a stern religious figure, but as a cheerful, lively visitor who brought joy to children.
That night, Moore sat by the fireplace in his study and began to write a poem for his six children. He wanted something playful, warm, and filled with wonder. Drawing from Dutch and European folklore, he imagined Santa traveling through the sky in a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer, sliding down chimneys, and leaving gifts for good children. By the time he finished, the famous opening lines had already taken shape:
“’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…”
Moore did not originally intend for the poem to be published. It was simply a family gift. However, a friend of the Moore family loved the poem so much that it was secretly sent to the Troy Sentinel, a newspaper in New York. On December 23rd, 1823, the poem was printed anonymously, and readers were immediately enchanted.
The poem’s vivid descriptions helped establish many of the Santa Claus traditions we know today — including the sleigh, the reindeer, Santa’s jolly personality, and even the names of his flying team. Over time, Moore acknowledged that he was the author, and his poem became a cornerstone of Christmas culture.
More than two centuries later, “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” remains one of the most widely read poems in the English language. From living rooms in Clarksville to homes around the world, families still gather each Christmas Eve to enjoy the same magical story that began as a simple gift from a father to his children.
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
By 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 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.
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 the 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 of 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 stockings; 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.”
