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So,—thinking him divine,—Sujâta drew
Tremblingly nigh, and kissed the earth and said.
With sweet face bent, “Would that the Holy One
Inhabiting this grove, Giver of good,
Merciful unto me his handmaiden,
Vouchsafing now his presence, might accept
These our poor gifts of snowy curds, fresh-made,
With milk as white as new-carved ivory!”