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125

IV

I saw her sandals of grave gold
Move on the marble, soft as light;
Her motion was like birds in flight;
The bountiful, the new, the old
Deep secret that no tongue has told
Was born of her—as is the white
First flame of day-break from the night,
As song-birds wake, as flowers unfold.
And then I kissed her sandals of
Grave gold, and kissed her hands and mouth;
And knew how more serene than song,
How spacious and how strong is Love!—
Spacious as thought is of the truth;
Strong as the conscious soul is strong! ...