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.