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In Memoriam
XXVIII

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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 new 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 controlI'd me when a boy; 
They bring me sorrow touch'd with joy, 
The merry merry bells of Yule. 
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