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The Trumpets

The trumpets were calling me over the hill,
And I was a boy and knew nothing of men;
But they filled all the vale with their clangorous trill,
And flooded the gloom of the glen.

“The trumpets,” I cried, “Lo, they call from afar,
They are mingled with music of bugle and drum;
The trumpets, the trumpets are calling to war,
The trumpets are calling -- I come.”

The trumpets were calling me over the Range,
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
william 27 March 2019

what a poem ha ha ha ha ha ha

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