Sonnet Xiv. The Telegraph And Telephone.

FLEETER than time, across the Continent, Through unsunned ocean depths, from beach to beach, Around the rolling globe Thought's couriers reach. The new-tuned earth like some vast instrument Tingles from zone to zone; for Art has lent New nerves, new pulse, new motion — all to each, And each to all, in swift electric speech Bound by a force unwearied and unspent. Now lone Katahdin talks with Caucasus; The Arctic ice-fields with the sultry South, The sun-bathed palm thrills to the pine-tree's call. We for all realms were made, and they for us. For all there is a soul, an ear, a mouth; And Time and Space are naught. The mind is all.