Who carved this shattered harp on my stone? <br />I died to you, no doubt. But how many harps and pianos <br />Wired I and tightened and disentangled for you, <br />Making them sweet again -- with tuning fork or without? <br />Oh well! A harp leaps out of the ear of a man, you say, <br />But whence the ear that orders the length of the strings <br />To a magic of numbers flying before your thought <br />Through a door that closes against your breathless wonder? <br />Is there no Ear round the ear of a man, that it senses <br />Through strings and columns of air the soul of sound? <br />I thrill as I call it a tuning fork that catches <br />The waves of mingled music and light from afar, <br />The antennae of Thought that listens through utmost space. <br />Surely the concord that ruled my spirit is proof <br />Of an Ear that tuned me, able to tune me over <br />And use me again if I am worthy to use.<br /><br />Edgar Lee Masters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/joseph-dixon/
