The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid, the night is still; A single church below the hill Is pealing, folded in the mist. A single peal of bells below, That wakens at this hour of rest A single murmur in the breast, That these are not the bells I know. Like strangers' voices here they sound, In lands where not a memory strays, Nor landmark breathes of other days, But all is new unhallow'd ground. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE DEATH OF A FAIR INFANT DYING OF A COUGH by JOHN MILTON THE ENTHUSIAST, OR, THE LOVER OF NATURE by JOSEPH WARTON THE CANAL by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN ESTEEMING THE BIBLE by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR TO WILL D'AVENANT, MY FRIEND, UPON HIS POEM, 'MADAGASCAR' by THOMAS CAREW |