A Reed

Elizabeth Barrett Browning(1806–1861)

1850

I AM no trumpet, but a reed:No flattering breath shall from me leadA 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 indeedLeft 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 spreadTheir 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.

From Prometheus Bound, and Other Poems, via the English Wikisource transcription.

Public domainThis poem is in the public domain. You may read it, copy it, recite it and publish it without asking anyone.