All the heavy days are over; Leave
the body’s coloured pride Underneath
the grass and clover, With
the feet laid side by side. One
with her are mirth and duty; Bear
the gold embroidered dress, For
she needs not her sad beauty, To
the scented oaken press. Hers
the kiss of Mother Mary, The
long hair is on her face; Still
she goes with footsteps wary, Full
of earth's old timid grace. With
white feet of angels seven Her
white feet go glimmering And
above the deep of heaven, Flame on flame and wing on wing. |
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