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EPITHALAMIUM. Slim feet that nestle in my hand like terns -- Long lovely feet that lightly skim the shore And cleave the waves translucent, evermore A-tiptoe like the nymphs on Grecian urns; -- Form, white as Galatea's, ere she turns From marble to the warm flesh azured o'er With delicate veins, that never will feel more Snow of Pentelicus on life that burns; -- Moving to unseen music, hands that fold Like wings of Cherubim, white upon white, In Lippo's frescoes, over robes of gold; -- Come to me, wingèd birds, form clothed in light, Soul of my beautiful love! O let me fold Your argent sweetness to my heart this night! Achadd, Sc. Author of "Hieronymus Rides" (Macmillan) The Candid Adventurer" (Houghton Mifflin)