Page:Fiddler's Farewell.djvu/101

(That was so full!)
With others' wine.
I'll not refuse to drink.

But first
I must know thirst.

So must this violin of mine,
I think.
***
How still it lies;
An empty shell along the empty sand
Is not more still;
But put your hand
To the shining thing
As music passes!
Do you feel the quickening
Of the languid wood?
Come, lay your ear
To the shell—

Heart, leaning near,
So near—

Do you hear
The stirring and the throbbing
Above your tuneless sobbing?

 

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