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The Countess Cathleen in Paradise
| All the heavy days are over; | | Leave the body’s coloured pride | | Underneath the grass and clover, | | With the
feet laid side by side. | | | | | | Bathed in flaming founts of duty | | She’ll not ask a haughty dress; | | Carry all that
mournful beauty | | To the scented oaken press. | | | | | | Did the kiss of Mother Mary | | Put that music in her face? | | Yet she goes with footstep wary, | | Full of earth’s old timid grace. | | | | | | ’Mong the feet of angels seven | | What a
dancer glimmering! | | All the heavens bow down to Heaven, | | Flame to flame and wing to wing. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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