The Master-Player

An old worn harp that had been played
Till all its strings were loose and frayed,
Joy, Hate and Fear, each one essayed,
To play. But each in turn had found
No sweet responsiveness of sound

Then Love the Master-Player came
With heaving breast and eyes aflame;
The Harp he took all undismayed,
Smote on its strings, still strange to song,
And brought forth music sweet and strong.

Credit

This poem is in the public domain. 

About this Poem

"The Master-Player" appeared in The Collected Poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar (Dodd, Mead and Company, 1913).