THE LARK above our heads doth know
A heaven we see not here below;
She sees it, and for joy she sings;
Then falls with ineffectual wings.
Ah, soaring soul! faint not nor tire!
Each heaven attained reveals a higher.
Thy thought is of thy failure; we
List raptured, and thank God for thee.
A Violinist
Francis William Bourdillon
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Poem topics: god, joy, soul, failure, thought, heaven, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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