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.
