THE VIOLIN
The Violin, all good musicians say,
While yet in babyhood you must begin;
And so, beneath my little rounded chin,
’Twas promptly tucked, and I began to play
The Violin.
No ear had I, or skill; but Discipline
Recked not of that; and so I sawed away,
And rent the air with Purgatorial din;
Pondering the while, profoundly, day by day,
Of dark recesses, secret nooks, wherein
I might (with Providential aid) mislay
The Violin.
The Violin, all good musicians say,
While yet in babyhood you must begin;
And so, beneath my little rounded chin,
’Twas promptly tucked, and I began to play
The Violin.
No ear had I, or skill; but Discipline
Recked not of that; and so I sawed away,
And rent the air with Purgatorial din;
Pondering the while, profoundly, day by day,
Of dark recesses, secret nooks, wherein
I might (with Providential aid) mislay
The Violin.