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.