The minstrels played their Christmas tune <br />To-night beneath my cottage-eaves; <br />While, smitten by a lofty moon, <br />The encircling laurels, thick with leaves, <br />Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen, <br />That overpowered their natural green. <br /> <br /> <br />Through hill and valley every breeze <br />Had sunk to rest with folded wings: <br />Keen was the air, but could not freeze, <br />Nor check, the music of the strings; <br />So stout and hardy were the band <br />That scraped the chords with strenuous hand. <br /> <br /> <br />And who but listened?-till was paid <br />Respect to every inmate's claim, <br />The greeting given, the music played <br />In honour of each household name, <br />Duly pronounced with lusty call, <br />And 'Merry Christmas' wished to all.<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/minstrels/
