Daily Whitman


The Mystic Trumpeter

  Blow again trumpeter—conjure war's alarums.

  Swift to thy spell a shuddering hum like distant thunder rolls,
  Lo, where the arm'd men hasten—lo, mid the clouds of dust the glint
      of bayonets,
  I see the grime-faced cannoneers, I mark the rosy flash amid the
      smoke, I hear the cracking of the guns;
  Nor war alone—thy fearful music-song, wild player, brings every
      sight of fear,
  The deeds of ruthless brigands, rapine, murder—I hear the cries for help!
  I see ships foundering at sea, I behold on deck and below deck the
      terrible tableaus.


Posted on 25/07/2015, in literature, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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