Robertson Trowbridge

NOT to the realm of breathèd sounds alone

Belong all instruments of melody:

No less than Music’s self hath Poesy

Her instruments, perchance of finer tone.

She hath her sonnet-trumpet for her own,

Her viols and her pipes of balladry,

And silver flutes for love’s sweet ministry

In many a tender lyric softly blown.

List, how in clearest harmony they sound,—

Cymbals and drums beating in battle-song,

Harp-strains of holy psalmody, up-stealing;

And, heard through all, with mighty voice profound

Out-poured, a wave of sound sustained and strong,

The solemn epic’s thunderous organ-pealing!