Touch Gently, Friend, And Slow, The Violin, So Sweet And Low, That My Dreaming Senses May Be Beckoned So Into A Rest As Deep As The Long Past "Years Ago!" So Softly, Then, Begin; And Ever Gently Touch The Violin, Until An Impulse Grows Of A Sudden, Like Wind On The Brow Of The Earth, And The Voice Of Your Violin Shows Its Wide-Swung Girth With A Crash Of The Strings And A Medley Of Rage And Mirth; And My Rested Senses Spring Like Juice From A Broken Rind, And The Joys That Your Melodies Bring I Know Worth A Life-Time To Win, As You Waken To Love And This Hour Your Violin!