The sound is forced, the notes are few!

Tones that sound, and roar and storm about me until I have set them down in notes.

My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.

What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? Speak, speak!

I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but the saying is true, 'The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.'

By magic numbers and persuasive sound.