Sonnet

As when above orchestral undertone,

The plaining wail of muted violin,

The hushed oböe and the distant din,

Of muffled drum or viol's raucous groan —

Sudden arises one pure voice-like tone,

A silver trumpet's tongue that stirs the soul

To feel the theme, and the harmonious whole

A sonant setting seems for that alone;

So, high above earth's murmurous stir and strife,

Riseth thy voice in clear enringing song —

No minor plaint of dull despairing pain,

But one true note of hope that bids us long

For higher things; and all the din of life

Seems to subserve the sweetness of thy strain.