A Child of the People And Other Poems. By James Chapman Woods |
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[O perfect Poet-choir whose voices ring] |
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 | A Child of the People |  |
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[O perfect Poet-choir whose voices ring]
O perfect Poet-choir whose voices ring
Like gathering trumpets as the ages go,
Each in its part, or resonant or low,—
Flute-throated one as any bird in Spring,
One full-toned as the surges' thundering,
One compassing all chords in even flow,—
So sweet, so full, your stately measures grow,
Men care no more to hear their fellows sing.
Like gathering trumpets as the ages go,
Each in its part, or resonant or low,—
Flute-throated one as any bird in Spring,
One full-toned as the surges' thundering,
One compassing all chords in even flow,—
So sweet, so full, your stately measures grow,
Men care no more to hear their fellows sing.
Vex not your endless strain with scorn of me,
That, in years shadowed with your fame, I play
With words your breath to songs immortal drew,
Since ye be mighty lords of melody,—
I, a poor harp whereon the winds essay
Soon-dying numbers, may-be learned from you.
That, in years shadowed with your fame, I play
With words your breath to songs immortal drew,
Since ye be mighty lords of melody,—
I, a poor harp whereon the winds essay
Soon-dying numbers, may-be learned from you.
| A Child of the People | |