Most of us love Christmas—the smell of a fresh tree, the sparkle of lights, the chance to cook (and taste!) good food, the concerts, the parties, and the extra time with family and friends. It’s a season full of joy, warmth, and a kind of excitement we don’t feel at any other time of year.

But let’s be honest: it can also bring a bit of frustration. We pull out the same decorations from last year, hear the same slogans everywhere, and get bombarded with the same shopping-mall Christmas music. After a while, it’s easy to feel a little worn out. I mean, how many times can we listen to Jingle Bells or The Little Drummer Boy with the same enthusiasm?

So, in my own search for something fresh and “a little different,” I started exploring Christmas poetry from the Iberian Peninsula. To my surprise, I found so much of it truly beautiful, original, and inspiring. And I’d love to share a few of those discoveries with you.

To the Divine Child

by Frei Agostinho da Cruz-a Franciscan mystic

What vision, heavens, is this within a stall?
The Sun divine, whose home is cloud and height,
lies on the straw, and weeps; yet through His light
His tears bring joy and life to all.

Love sleeps, and wakes the night so cold,
while human hearts still worship shadow’s lore;
yet He who weeps for us will soon restore
in tears the daybreak Heaven foretold.

O Child! if Thou dost weep, what shall we do,
when even sorrow smiles within Thy grace?
By Thy lament mankind is born anew.

Rise for us, holy Sun of Love’s embrace,
and make us, weeping, be reborn in You—
for grief itself is beautiful in Thy face.

On the Birth of the Savior

by Violante do Céu-Dominican sister

Love comes down from Heaven to the earth below;
though first of all, He now begins His story.
The Sun that made the dawn and morning glow
is born by night, within the depth of glory.

The King of kings comes poor, yet meek and kind,
descends from God’s own breast, His dwelling pure;
and if on earth He weeps, it is to find
that Heaven bends to heal what we endure.

O new-born Adam, faults of man redeeming,
in manger low more triumph here is shown
than in the stars or heights of seraphs gleaming;

for being God, Thou willedst to be Son,
that man, so lost, might wake from mortal dreaming
and see through sleeping God his Heaven begun.

Christmas Night

by Frei Manuel das Neves

The wind is still, the star burns pure and bright;
silence itself now sleeps in lucent veil;
and God made Child, in meekness soft and pale,
wraps all the world in peace and light.

Shepherd of peace, who sleeps on straw so bare,
awaken human hearts to love’s command;
the Infinite is born in tender care,
and Heaven rests within a mortal’s hand.

O holy night! thy tears have all been spent,
for God now weeps as man beneath the span;
from grief He fashions praise, from pain content.

Love reigns in Bethlehem’s sovereign plan:
the Child weeps music, and through His lament
the Silence speaks—the hidden God of man.

Serene Night

by Fray Luis de León-Augustin friar and professor at the University of Salamanca

When I behold the sky,
with countless stars adorned and burning clear,
and look below, to lie
on earth by night o’ershadowed,
in sleep and dark forgetfulness endear —

then love and awe draw near;
my heart awakes and whispers, soft and low,
“Where has the seed immortal gone to grow?
Why has God stooped so low, to be as I?”

On the Mystery of the Divine Incarnation

by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz-Hieronymite nun, writer, philosopher, composer and poet

Since my God is born in human guise,
what more can I than fall and worship there?
Being God, He willed to be man indeed,
and made man, through His Godhead, His compeer.

O prodigy of love, O lofty art,
that lifts our dust to stand where angels are!
O happy fault, of Adam’s grief the seed,
whose fall bore fruit of beauty past compare!

A very Merry Christmas to you all!