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.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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