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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=373847" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Joseph Dixon</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=373847" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">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.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edgar+Lee+Masters">Edgar Lee Masters</a></strong></div>

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