The English Poem (A Ballad of Heaven)

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He wrought at one great work for years ;
The world passed by with lofty look;
Sometimes his eyes were dashed with tears ;
Sometimes his lips with laughter shook.

His wife and child went clothed in rags,
And in a windy garret starved ;
He trod his measure on the flags,
And high on heaven his music carved.

Wistful he grew but never feared ;
For always on the midnight skies
His rich orchestral score appeared
In stars and zones and galaxies.

He thought to copy down his score ;
The moonlight was his lamp; he said,
‘Listen my love,’ but on the floor
His wife and child were lying dead.

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