As a Violinist
As a violinist bends a loving face
Down to his fiddle, down to the singing bow,
So the poet bends down his soul to Beauty's place
To hear her voice, and her very heart to know.
As the player looks aloft and thrills the strings,
So the poet looks to God, and yearns and sings.
Down to his fiddle, down to the singing bow,
So the poet bends down his soul to Beauty's place
To hear her voice, and her very heart to know.
As the player looks aloft and thrills the strings,
So the poet looks to God, and yearns and sings.
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