That was a foolish thing to do,
Alone in the night the long hours through;
Gaping there like a chalky clown
At a stranger-door that had been your own.
Where was your pluck and where your pride?
They both were there, and love beside;
And suddenly the door swung wide.
I heard the sound of a violin
That seemed to bid me enter in:
For a fiddle’s a key for many a lock,