I am but God, a Pity throned above

To watch the sparrow's fall, to feel its throes

And wait the slow, sweet blossoming of love,

Small, kindly loves from which the Great Love grows."

Then Raphael, Healer of the Earth, bowed thrice,

Withdrawing through the ranks of seraphim

Who smiled to see how, scorning Paradise,

On frolic feet the dog sped after him.

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