Alfred Lord Tennyson (
1809-
1892)
The time draws near the
birth of
Christ:
The
moon is hid; the
night is still;
The
Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the
mist.
Four voices of four
hamlets round,
From far and near, on
mead and
moor,
Swell out and fail, as if a door
Were shut between me and the sound:
Each voice four
changes on the
wind,
That now dilate, and now decrease,
Peace and
goodwill, goodwill and peace,
Peace and goodwill, to all
mankind.
This year I slept and woke with pain,
I almost wish’d no more to wake,
And that my hold on
life would break
Before I heard those bells again:
But they my troubled
spirit rule,
For they controll’d me when a boy;
They bring me
sorrow touch’d with
joy,
The merry merry bells of
Yule.