Joseph Dixon

    Who carved this shattered harp on my stone?
    I died to you, no doubt. But how many harps and pianos
    Wired I and tightened and disentangled for you,
    Making them sweet again - with tuning fork or without?
    Oh well! A harp leaps out of the ear of a man, you say,
    But whence the ear that orders the length of the strings
    To a magic of numbers flying before your thought
    Through a door that closes against your breathless wonder?
    Is there no Ear round the ear of a man, that it senses
    Through strings and columns of air the soul of sound?
    I thrill as I call it a tuning fork that catches
    The waves of mingled music and light from afar,
    The antennae of
    Thought that listens through utmost space.
    Surely the concord that ruled my spirit is proof
    Of an Ear that tuned me, able to tune me over
    And use me again if I am worthy to use.

Edgar Lee Masters

Edgar Lee Masters was an American poet, biographer, and dramatist. Born in Kansas and raised in Illinois, Masters is best known for his collection of poems entitled "Spoon River Anthology" (1915), which is a series of epitaphs of residents of the fictional small town of Spoon River. His works reflect the everyday lives and frustrations of middle America. Masters also practiced law and wrote biographies for historical figures such as Abraham Lincoln and Mark Twain.

Edgar Lee Masters

Harlan Sewall

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Zenas Witt

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Saving A Woman: One Phase

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

The Birth Of Elenor Murray

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

English

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    Observe the clasped hands!
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        This string upon my harp was best beloved:
        I thought I knew its secrets through and through;
        Till an old man, whose young eyes lightened blue
        'Neath his white hair, bent over me and moved
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Fiddler Jones

    The earth keeps some vibration going
    There in your heart, and that is you.
    And if the people find you can fiddle,
    Why, fiddle you must, for all your life.
    What do you see, a harvest of clover?
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Isaiah Beethoven

    They told me I had three months to live,
    So I crept to Bernadotte,
    And sat by the mill for hours and hours
    Where the gathered waters deeply moving
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    O world, that's you!
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Edgar Lee Masters

Harmon Whitney

    Out of the lights and roar of cities,
    Drifting down like a spark in Spoon River,
    Burnt out with the fire of drink, and broken,
    The paramour of a woman I took in self-contempt,
    But to hide a wounded pride as well.
    To be judged and loathed by a village of little minds -
    I, gifted with tongues and wisdom,
    Sunk here to the dust of the justice court,
    A picker of rags in the rubbage of spites and wrongs, -
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    Out of the lore of golden years,
    Or raising a laugh with a flash of filthy wit
    When they bought the drinks to kindle my dying mind.
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Thomas Trevelyan

    Reading in Ovid the sorrowful story of Itys,
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Edgar Lee Masters