Thursday, December 16, 2004

In Memoriam


The time draws near the birth of Christ;The moon is hid, the night is still;A single church below the hillIs pealing, folded in the mistA single peal of bells below,That wakens at this hour of restA single murmur in the breast,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. -- Tennyson



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