MUSICIANS wrestle everywhere: | |
All day, among the crowded air, | |
I hear the silver strife; | |
And—waking long before the dawn— | |
Such transport breaks upon the town | 5 |
I think it that “new life!” | |
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It is not bird, it has no nest; | |
Nor band, in brass and scarlet dressed, | |
Nor tambourine, nor man; | |
It is not hymn from pulpit read,— | 10 |
The morning stars the treble led | |
On time’s first afternoon! | |
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Some say it is the spheres at play! | |
Some say that bright majority | |
Of vanished dames and men! | 15 |
Some think it service in the place | |
Where we, with late, celestial face, | |
Please God, shall ascertain! | |