Chapter XXI
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And I caught At the flying robe, and unrepelled Was lapped again in its folds full-fraught With warmth and wonder and delight, God’s mercy being infinite. For scarce had the words escaped my tongue, When, at a passionate bound, I sprung Out of the wandering world of rain, Into the little chapel again.
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Pomegranates from an English GardenChapter XXI
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