ALL the heavy days are over; <br />Leave the body's coloured pride <br />Underneath the grass and clover, <br />With the feet laid side by side. <br />Bathed in flaming founts of duty <br />She'll not ask a haughty dress; <br />Carry all that mournful beauty <br />To the scented oaken press. <br />Did the kiss of Mother Mary <br />Put that music in her face? <br />Yet she goes with footstep wary, <br />Full of earth's old timid grace. <br />'Mong the feet of angels seven <br />What a dancer glimmering! <br />All the heavens bow down to Heaven, <br />Flame to flame and wing to wing.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-countess-cathleen-in-paradise/
