The speaker is begging, almost demanding, to be sold a violin that is more than just an instrument. He wants old wood that has soaked up forbidden desire, wild storms, and grief. The images are physical and strange: the fiddle has kissed the dark night like a lover, clutched a storm, and its bow has been fed by the morning sun. What he really longs for is an object shaped by intense living, especially by pain. The final line makes that clear—he wants something crushed by suffering but still ready to sing.
There is a restless, sensual, slightly haunted mood here. He doesn’t want a clean, untouched violin; he wants one that has known secrecy, passion, and heartbreak. The strange mention of kissing a sister adds an uneasy charge, suggesting a love that is too close or forbidden. In the end, that pain becomes a kind of power, as if only a violin with this much life and damage could produce music worth hearing.