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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477866" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Master-Player</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477866" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">AN old worn harp that had been played<br>Till all its strings were loose and frayed,<br>Joy, Hate and Fear, each one essayed,<br>To play. But each in turn had found<br>No sweet responsiveness of sound<br>Then Love the Master-Player came<br>With heaving breast and eyes aflame;<br>The harp he took all undismayed,<br>Smote on its strings, still strange to song,<br>And brought forth music sweet and strong.</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=Paul+Laurence+Dunbar">Paul Laurence Dunbar</a></strong></div>

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