A Medley: Thy Voice Is Heard (The Princess)


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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Return to the Alfred Lord Tennyson Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; Amphion

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