But to me that voice is mute!
Tuneless kettle-drum and flute
I but hear one liquid lyre—
Kettle bubbling on the fire,
Whizzing, fizzing, steaming out
Music from its curved spot,
Wak’ning visions by its song
Of thy nut-brown streams, Souchong;
Lumps of crystal saccharine—
Liquid pearl distill’d from kine;