Poems (Van Rensselaer)/The Player and his Violin
THE PLAYER AND HIS VIOLIN
My little brother, small brown violin,
How was the soul of singing caged within
A body of this strange yet gracile mould?
How was the shape so wondrously surmised,
As with a wizardry of art devised,
To capture and to hold
A spirit of such wild and free
Divinity?
How was the soul of singing caged within
A body of this strange yet gracile mould?
How was the shape so wondrously surmised,
As with a wizardry of art devised,
To capture and to hold
A spirit of such wild and free
Divinity?
Not laws to parse and tabulate are they
That dictate thus the unalterable way
To safeguard, in a hidden silentness,
The perfect voice of purest melody—
To keep it pent yet waiting eagerly
For the first summoning stress
Of the right touch, that it may sing
Its answering.
That dictate thus the unalterable way
To safeguard, in a hidden silentness,
The perfect voice of purest melody—
To keep it pent yet waiting eagerly
For the first summoning stress
Of the right touch, that it may sing
Its answering.
Unsolved, we know them only as we know,
When through the organ-pipes of thunder blow
Deep blasts of the great cosmic symphony,
Or hollow conchs of wave and whistles of sleet
And harps of seashore pines cry out to meet
The north-wind's reveille—
As then we know some law enorme
Shapes the loud storm.
When through the organ-pipes of thunder blow
Deep blasts of the great cosmic symphony,
Or hollow conchs of wave and whistles of sleet
And harps of seashore pines cry out to meet
The north-wind's reveille—
As then we know some law enorme
Shapes the loud storm.
Even as its crashing musics are unfurled
From caverns of the cloudy upper world,
So from the bosom of this tremulous wood
Streams the bright vehemence of melodic speech,
By the same rules awaked, controlled, that teach
The shining brotherhood
Of star and sun and satellite
To choir aright.
From caverns of the cloudy upper world,
So from the bosom of this tremulous wood
Streams the bright vehemence of melodic speech,
By the same rules awaked, controlled, that teach
The shining brotherhood
Of star and sun and satellite
To choir aright.
How should we, earth's ephemera, understand?
Yet, matching only mortal ear and hand
Against the archeternal secrecies,
From nothingness, unholpen and untaught
By pattern-books of God, we, we, have wrought,
Meeting his laws' decrees,
The body of the violin,
The soul within.
Yet, matching only mortal ear and hand
Against the archeternal secrecies,
From nothingness, unholpen and untaught
By pattern-books of God, we, we, have wrought,
Meeting his laws' decrees,
The body of the violin,
The soul within.
What matters the impenetrable Why?
—Thou waitest, singing shape, and thou and I
Such strains may breathe as scarcely sound in heaven,
Unless upon its floor of stars there stand,
Thy incorporeal semblance in his hand,
Some player that had given
A voice like thine its rapturous birth
First here on earth.
—Thou waitest, singing shape, and thou and I
Such strains may breathe as scarcely sound in heaven,
Unless upon its floor of stars there stand,
Thy incorporeal semblance in his hand,
Some player that had given
A voice like thine its rapturous birth
First here on earth.
Come, little brother! Laid to cheek and chin,
Give me thy heart-beats, palpitant violin!
Never a lover held his true-love's brow
More lovingly; never he knew so well
What a sweet throat may find it meet to tell
In song as I know now,
Or had such certainty to hear
Joy for his ear.
Give me thy heart-beats, palpitant violin!
Never a lover held his true-love's brow
More lovingly; never he knew so well
What a sweet throat may find it meet to tell
In song as I know now,
Or had such certainty to hear
Joy for his ear.
Thy lover yet thy master, when my hand
Of throbbing form and spirit takes command,
Then only flames aloud the slumbering fire.
Thy master yet thy lover, I must know
Thine every need and wish ere I can show
Thou art the heart's-desire
Of music's self when it would be
Pure poesy.
Of throbbing form and spirit takes command,
Then only flames aloud the slumbering fire.
Thy master yet thy lover, I must know
Thine every need and wish ere I can show
Thou art the heart's-desire
Of music's self when it would be
Pure poesy.
So doth my touch thy dreaming ardors move
To utterance of the very soul of love;
So the sharp sweetness of the thrillèd string
Stirs in my heart the vision of a face
That lives within its passionate embrace
Alone; and we take wing
For paradise together, three—
Thou, I, and she.
To utterance of the very soul of love;
So the sharp sweetness of the thrillèd string
Stirs in my heart the vision of a face
That lives within its passionate embrace
Alone; and we take wing
For paradise together, three—
Thou, I, and she.