Poems (Hardy)/To a violin
TO A VIOLIN
In silva viva situi: 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, commendThy 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 sendHarmonies 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 singAway tears of the unsatisfied and say To hearts (that wist not how they need) what bread Says to the spirit when smoking censers swing.