Chapter IX: Canto CIII: ; Canto CIV

“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.

“This holly by the cottage-eave
To-night, ungathered shall it stand;
We live within the stranger’s land,
And strangely falls our Christmas eve.

“Our father’s dust is left alone
And silent under other snows:
There in due time the woodbine blows,
The violet comes, but we are gone.”
TENNYSON.