Poems (Hardy)/To a violin
TO A VIOLIN
In silva viva situi:
Jam mortua cano.—Inscription on a violin.
Jam mortua cano.—Inscription on a violin.
O INSTRUMENT of lovely sound, art naught
But wood and yet can be such heavenly friend?
Thou that wert tree once, seraph that art, commend
Thy silences to me, till troubled thought,
That wakes o' nights o'er little tasks half-wrought,
Learns to be still and wait life's secret trend,
While into every fiber life shall send
Harmonies from archangels' choiring caught.
So shall there be from me when I am dead
Music immortal, sweet and searching; yea,
The end shall never be, and I shall sing
Away tears of the unsatisfied and say
To hearts (that wist not how they need) what bread
Says to the spirit when smoking censers swing.
But wood and yet can be such heavenly friend?
Thou that wert tree once, seraph that art, commend
Thy silences to me, till troubled thought,
That wakes o' nights o'er little tasks half-wrought,
Learns to be still and wait life's secret trend,
While into every fiber life shall send
Harmonies from archangels' choiring caught.
So shall there be from me when I am dead
Music immortal, sweet and searching; yea,
The end shall never be, and I shall sing
Away tears of the unsatisfied and say
To hearts (that wist not how they need) what bread
Says to the spirit when smoking censers swing.