John Bannister Tabb

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How many larks are soaring--
How many voices loud--
Their songs of praise outpouring
Where distance, like a cloud,
Is stretched above us for a screen
Lest aught of heaven be heard or seen!

Ah, should one note prevailing,
A momentary glow,
Love's meteor light out-trailing,
Flash over us below,
Thenceforth the music of a sigh
Were earth's divinest melody.

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