At the Concert: A Wagner Number

A CRASH of the drum and cymbals,
A long, keen, wailing cry ;
A throb as of wings of mighty things,
That with whirring din sweep by.

They come, with their thunder-chorus,
Vast shapes, of a stronger race ;
An alien throng from some star of song
In the undiscovered space.

I thrill to their eager calling,
I shrink from their fierce control;
They have pressed and pried the great doors wide
That were closed to guard my soul.