Wood and Bone

I made a harp of wood and bone
To make sweet music for my love:
The wood to sound a mellow tone,
The bone to cry like birds above.

The wood was from a rowan tree,
A mountain ash, flame-berried bright.
The bone came from birds of the sea,
Who fell at my feet from their flight.

I wrought the wood with wind and flame;
With sea and earth I wrought the bone.
And there is sound I cannot tame,
Sound of air, fire, water, and stone,

In this harp. The wood sings like leaves
Torn from the boughs at autumn's end.
Wildly it sings; wildly it grieves,
And all joyful sounds warp and bend.

The bone sings like a dying swan,
Sings like a phoenix at her birth,
Sings like seabirds flying at dawn,
And makes no sound of human earth.

At night I lie awake, and think
How this harp made of wood and bone
Has given me wildness to drink,
Has made me feel deeply alone.

The sounds drove my love far from me;
And so at night I lie and hear
The ghosts of birds above the sea,
The dancing of trees far from here.