The speaker is the violin itself, begging the musician to play and release the music stored inside it. It does not want a gentle tune: the songs it longs to sing are about endurance—people pressing on through rain with bleeding feet, hearts still beating after being broken, twisted branches that keep their promise, and roots that keep pushing through the hillside despite everything working against them. The mood is intense and a little defiant, mixing pain with vitality. That force comes from the instrument’s origin: its wooden body was cut from the north side of a tree, the cold, harsh side. So the violin speaks for all that is battered but unbroken, and asks those who are comfortable and safe to listen.
The Violin — Summary
Musician, give a voice to me! Oh quicken wood and string, Unburden me of ecstasy, For I have songs to sing!
Of faces forward through dark rains, Of torn but valiant feet, Of blood that runs in shrinking veins, Of broken hearts that beat.
Of crooked boughs that have kept true The promise to fulfill, Of thwarted roots that yet pursue Their purpose in the hill.
Oh all you safe and smooth of heart Listen to song from me, Whose wooden throat was once a part Of the north side of a tree!