A Reed

I AM no trumpet, but a reed:

No flattering breath shall from me lead

      A silver sound, a hollow sound!

I will not ring, for priest or king,

One blast that, in re-echoing,

      Would leave a bondsman faster bound.

I am no trumpet, but a reed,—

A broken reed, the wind indeed

      Left flat upon a dismal shore:

Yet if a little maid, or child,

Should sigh within it, earnest-mild,

      This reed will answer evermore.

I am no trumpet, but a reed:

Go, tell the fishers, as they spread

      Their nets along the river's edge,—

I will not tear their nets at all,

Nor pierce their hands—if they should fall:

      Then let them leave me in the sedge.