Louise Bogan


Where have these hands been, 
By what delayed, 
That so long stayed 
Apart from the thin 

Strings which they now grace 
With their lonely skill? 
Music and their cool will 
At last interlace. 

Now with great ease, and slow, 
The thumb, the finger, the strong 
Delicate hand plucks the long 
String it was born to know. 

And, under the palm, the string 
Sings as it wished to sing.