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A Violinist

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.

Francis William Bourdillon

Read poems about / on: heaven, joy, god, thanks

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11/21/2008 5:16:22 PM. You Are Here: A Violinist by Francis William Bourdillon