Canto CII

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.