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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Born in 1806 at Coxhoe Hall, Durham, England, Elizabeth Barrett, was an English poet of the Romantic Movement...
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FURTHER READING
Poems about Musical Instruments
Hymn to God, My God, in My Sickness
by John Donne
Latin & Soul
by Victor Hernández Cruz
Piano
by D. H. Lawrence
Sonnet V
by Mahmoud Darwish
The Guitar
by Federico García Lorca
[ 14 ]
by Martha Collins
Poems about Rivers
A Thought of the Nile
by Leigh Hunt
Afton Water
by Robert Burns
In Passing
by Stanley Plumly
Man in Stream
by Rosanna Warren
Oarlock, Oar (Y, W, V, U, F)
by Katrina Vandenberg
Part of Eve's Discussion
by Marie Howe
Rückenfigur
by Susan Howe
Somewhere between here and Belen
by Jay Wright
South
by Jack Gilbert
Summer Night, Riverside
by Sara Teasdale
The Other Side of the River
by Xi Chuan
The Outlet (162)
by Emily Dickinson
Vague Cadence
by Geoffrey G. O'Brien
Written on the Banks of the Arun
by Charlotte Smith
Related Prose
Poems about Music
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A Musical Instrument

 
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

What was he doing, the great god Pan,
 Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat
 With the dragon-fly on the river.

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
 From the deep cool bed of the river:
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
And the dragon-fly had fled away,
 Ere he brought it out of the river.

High on the shore sat the great god Pan
 While turbidly flowed the river;
And hacked and hewed as a great god can,
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed
 To prove it fresh from the river.

He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
 (How tall it stood in the river!)
Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,
Steadily from the outside ring,
And notched the poor dry empty thing
 In holes, as he sat by the river.

'This is the way,' laughed the great god Pan
 (Laughed while he sat by the river),
'The only way, since gods began
To make sweet music, they could succeed.'
Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,
 He blew in power by the river.

Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
 Piercing sweet by the river!
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the hill forgot to die,
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly
 Came back to dream on the river.

Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
 To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man:
The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,—
For the reed which grows nevermore again
 As a reed with the reeds in the river. 



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