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248

VIII.

Still, for the heart of woman giveth peace,
Peace in the end, and blessing, not sharp woe.
The days of passionate fierce seeking cease,
Wherein our pierced feet wandered to and fro,
Seeking her beauty whom at length we know
Eternally our own; the trodden places
Now far behind us redden at the glow
Of morning, as the red sun's chariot races
Along the arch of sky, and hot-wheeled chases
The white-wheeled timorous chariot of the moon:
Now watch we, smiling, in each other's faces
A light that shall be deathless glory soon
When, spirits eternal, we become a part
Of God's own deathless passionate sweet heart.