----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，