The steady peal of church bells
Rang out without a care,
Borne on a biting east wind
With snowflakes in the air.
The warming chimes were carried
On blizzard driven gales,
That bleached the parish rooftops
And whitewashed once green dales.
A bleak midwinter blanket
Stretched well beyond the eye,
Up to the far horizon
Where pasture meets the sky.
While in the vale, a cluster
Of houses fought the chill,
Beneath a bleating bell tower
And chapel on the hill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A delightful poem written in that beautiful old-fashion way, with great rhythm and rhyme. Lovely!