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The sky is dark, the snow descends:Ring, bells, ring out your merriest chime!Jesus is born; the Virgin bendsAbove him. Oh, the happy time!

No curtains bright-festooned are hung,To shield the Infant from the cold;The spider-webs alone are slungUpon the rafters bare and old.

On fresh straw lies the little One,Not in a palace, but a farm,And kindly oxen breathe uponHis manger-bed to keep it warm.

White wreaths of snow the roofs attire,And o'er them stars the blue adorn,And hark! In white the angel-quireSings to the Shepherds, "Christ is born."

© Toru Dutt