Singer's recovery

A golden harp, adorned with a fine ribbon,

that hung forlornly in the foyer on the wall;

joyfully it had sounded once, accompanying lovely songs,

many have listened to its lovely sounds.

And whoever comes here, they ask with sadness,

where, o golden harp, are your delightful sounds now?

The evening breeze blows through the hall so softly;

a wond'rous-quiet voice sounds from the strings.

And as the sounds murmur in each breath of wind,

a very careful ear might hear the harp's complaint.

"I must remain silent and out of tune

until my master takes me in his arms and cures me."

He hears its soft plaint with pity,

in the master's arms the harp is healed.

And rustles again joyfully, sounding even more brightly,

all again listen, never before has it sounded so lovely.