I hear her Winter voice abroad,
Her Noël and her songs to God,
Ringing in my ear.
And though July is ever dear,
And humid Summer suns are here,
Christmas fills the quad.
She fills me with a jubilee,
With lovely thoughts of Deity,
All throughout the year.
And when her days of Yule are near
I lift the tankard high in cheer:
Blesséd Lord are thee.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem