But come, ye Songsters, over-ripe,
That into “childish trebles break!”
And bring, Miss Winter, bring the pipe
That cannot sing without a shake!
Nay, come, ye Spinsters all, that spin
A slender thread of ancient voice,
Old notes that almost seem call’d in;
At such as you we shall rejoice!
No thund’ring Thalbergs here shall balk,
Or ride your pet D-cadence o’er,