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, all her body clothed with love,

Meet for the kisses of a King,

My lady cometh, and the spring

Scatters its sweetness from above.

Through gates of horn she issueth,

Down pathways of the land of dreams,

Her footsteps softly fall, she seems

Re-risen from the hand of death.

The violets bud beneath her tread,

The teeming earth in tongues of flame

Spits lambent crocus shoots, with shame

Each challenged snowdrop hangs its head.

Rh