For this I thank Thee; once again I hear
The foamy clash of cymbals and the grave
Hoarse-throated shout of brass which is repulsed,
And the clear triumph of unvanquished pipes—
Battles against stringed instruments and fifes
Which angels wage from organ-stops in Heaven.
I, through the hostile grating of my cell,
Can tiptoe just discern where warrior clouds
Chum smoking broken waters in their wakes,
Which unseen challengers, the winds, do chase,