Daily Whitman


The Mystic Trumpeter

  O trumpeter, methinks I am myself the instrument thou playest,
  Thou melt'st my heart, my brain—thou movest, drawest, changest
      them at will;
  And now thy sullen notes send darkness through me,
  Thou takest away all cheering light, all hope,
  I see the enslaved, the overthrown, the hurt, the opprest of the
      whole earth,
  I feel the measureless shame and humiliation of my race, it becomes
      all mine,
  Mine too the revenges of humanity, the wrongs of ages, baffled feuds
      and hatreds,
  Utter defeat upon me weighs—all lost—the foe victorious,
  (Yet 'mid the ruins Pride colossal stands unshaken to the last,
  Endurance, resolution to the last.)


Posted on 26/07/2015, in literature, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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