Lord Alfred Tennyson

The Princess: Thy Voice is Heard

Thy voice is heard thro’ rolling drums,
     That beat to battle where he stands;
Thy face across his fancy comes,
     And gives the battle to his hands:
A moment, while the trumpets blow,
     He sees his brood about thy knee;
The next, like fire he meets the foe,
     And strikes him dead for thine and thee.
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