Thy voice is heard thro' rolling drums,
That beat to battle where he stands;
Thy face across his fancy comes,
And gives the battle to his hands:
A moment, while the trumpets blow,
He sees his brood about thy knee;
The next, like fire he meets the foe,
And strikes him dead for thine and thee.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-princess-a-medley-thy-voice-is-heard/
