----William Wordsworth

The minstrels played their Christmas tune

To-night beneath my cottage-eaves;

While, smitten by a lofty moon,

The encircling laurels, thick with leaves,

Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,

That overpowered their natural green.

吟游诗人哼着他们的圣诞节曲调，

今夜，在我的田舍小屋下。

此时，高耸的月亮给予他们灵感。

层层的月桂树，覆盖着叶子，

映射着饱满眩目的光泽，

早已经超越了他们原有的颜色。

Through hill and valley every breeze

Had sunk to rest with folded wings:

Keen was the air, but could not freeze,

Nor check, the music of the strings;

So stout and hardy were the band

That scraped the chords with strenuous hand.

穿过山谷的每一阵微风下沉收起翅膀：

风是那么锋利，但永不冷漠，

也不核对，弦音声声：

一层层又如此的强烈刚强，

用热烈的手摩擦着弦柱。

And who but listened?--till was paid

Respect to every inmate's claim,

The greeting given, the music played

In honour of each household name,

Duly pronounced with lusty call,

但是谁在听?这个取决于同住的人的主张，

给个问候，做个音乐，为每个家里名字而自豪，

正式而显著的强有力的呼叫，