God Needs Antonio Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Your soul was lifted by the wings today	A
Hearing the master of the violin	B
You praised him praised the great Sabastian too	C
Who made that fine Chaconne but did you think	D
Of old Antonio Stradivari him	E
Who a good century and a half ago	F
Put his true work in that brown instrument	G
And by the nice adjustment of its frame	H
Gave it responsive life continuous	I
With the master's finger tips and perfected	J
Like them by delicate rectitude of use	K
That plain white aproned man who stood at work	L
Patient and accurate full fourscore years	M
Cherished his sight and touch by temperance	N
And since keen sense is love of perfectness	N
Made perfect violins the needed paths	N
For inspiration and high mastery	O
	-
No simpler man than he he never cried	P
why was I born to this monotonous task	Q
Of making violins or flung them down	R
To suit with hurling act well hurled curse	N
At labor on such perishable stuff	S
Hence neighbors in Cremona held him dull	T
Called him a slave a mill horse a machine	U
	-
Naldo a painter of eclectic school	V
Knowing all tricks of style at thirty one	W
And weary of them while Antonio	F
At sixty nine wrought placidly his best	X
Making the violin you heard today	A
Naldo would tease him oft to tell his aims	N
Perhaps thou hast some pleasant vice to feed	Y
the love of louis d'ors in heaps of four	Z
Each violin a heap I've naught to blame	H
My vices waste such heaps But then why work	L
With painful nicety	O
	-
Antonio then	A2
I like the gold well yes but not for meals	N
And as my stomach so my eye and hand	B2
And inward sense that works along with both	C2
Have hunger that can never feed on coin	D2
Who draws a line and satisfies his soul	E2
Making it crooked where it should be straight	F2
Antonio Stradivari has an eye	G2
That winces at false work and loves the true	C
Then Naldo 'Tis a petty kind of fame	H
At best that comes of making violins	N
And saves no masses either Thou wilt go	F
To purgatory none the less	N
	-
But he	O
'Twere purgatory here to make them ill	H2
And for my fame when any master holds	N
'Twixt chin and hand a violin of mine	I2
He will be glad that Stradivari lived	J2
Made violins and made them of the best	X
The masters only know whose work is good	K2
They will choose mine and while God gives them skill	H2
I give them instruments to play upon	L2
God choosing me to help him	E
	-
What Were God	M2
at fault for violins thou absent	G
	-
Yes	N
He were at fault for Stradivari's work	L
	-
Why many hold Giuseppe's violins	N
As good as thine	I2
	-
May be they are different	G
His quality declines he spoils his hand	B2
With over drinking But were his the best	X
He could not work for two My work is mine	I2
And heresy or not if my hand slacked	N2
I should rob God since his is fullest good	K2
Leaving a blank instead of violins	N
I say not God himself can make man's best	X
Without best men to help him	E
	-
'Tis God gives skill	H2
But not without men's hands he could not make	O2
Antonio Stradivari's violins	N
Without Antonio Get thee to thy easel	T

George Eliot

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