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Of singing, mellow and muted, staid,
Pass unbewildered now
With this processional of rhymed recording words.
Be not afraid.
***
What is a violin?
Who shall reveal this mystery of thin
Vibrating wood?
Of forest voices multi-voiced—
Wind, rain, on many leaves,
Bent branches moaning under
The crash of clouds that meet,
The cool pale hiss of snow?
And birds?
And pattering furry feet?
(Young cries along the leaves!)
All musics and all seasons
Seeping and soaking in,
Into the very core
Of the green bud
Of destined fiddle-wood—
Long long before
The master-mind conceives,
The hand achieves
The carven whole,
The curving sides, the twisted scroll,
Shapes it and stains it to this red russet thing
Of expectant string,
Names it, invests it
Pass unbewildered now
With this processional of rhymed recording words.
Be not afraid.
***
What is a violin?
Who shall reveal this mystery of thin
Vibrating wood?
Of forest voices multi-voiced—
Wind, rain, on many leaves,
Bent branches moaning under
The crash of clouds that meet,
The cool pale hiss of snow?
And birds?
And pattering furry feet?
(Young cries along the leaves!)
All musics and all seasons
Seeping and soaking in,
Into the very core
Of the green bud
Of destined fiddle-wood—
Long long before
The master-mind conceives,
The hand achieves
The carven whole,
The curving sides, the twisted scroll,
Shapes it and stains it to this red russet thing
Of expectant string,
Names it, invests it
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