The little violin thou holdst, in tenderess,
Half maidenly, half like a child in dress
Hast soared away from Heaven’s angel-farm
Toward where thy large mild eye is dreaming.
And he ended it with these lines:
Thou movest thy bow;
No sounds are these of nicely movéd strings,
No, No! Thy own sweet soul rings out and sings
The melodies that have with you come