Oh lost garden Paradise: -- Were the roses redder there Than they blossom otherwhere? Was the night's delicious shade More intensely star inlaid? Who can tell what memories Of lost beloved Paradise Saddened Eve with sleepless eyes? -- Fair first mother lulled to rest In a choicer garden nest, Curtained with a softer shading Than thy tenderest child is laid in, Was the sundawn brighter far Than our daily sundawns are? Was that love, first love of all Warmer, deeper, better worth Than has warmed poor hearts of earth Since the utter ruinous fall? -- Ah supremely happy once, Ah supremely broken hearted When her tender feet departed From the accustomed paths of peace: Catching Angel orisons For the last last time of all, Shedding tears that would not cease For the bitter bitter fall. Yet the accustomed hand for leading, Yet the accustomed heart for love; Sure she kept one part of Eden Angels could not strip her of. Sure the fiery messenger Kindling for his outraged Lord, Willing with the perfect Will, Yet rejoiced the flaming sword Chastening sore but sparing still Shut her treasure out with her. What became of Paradise? Did the cedars droop at all (Springtide hastening to the fall) Missing the beloved hand -- Or did their green perfection stand Unmoved beneath the perfect skies? -- Paradise was rapt on high, It lies before the gate of Heaven: -- Eve now slumbers there forgiven, Slumbers Rachel comforted, Slumber all the blessed dead Of days and months and years gone by, A solemn swelling company. They wait for us beneath the trees Of Paradise that lap of ease: They wait for us, till God shall please. Oh come the day of death, that day Of rest which cannot pass away: When the last work is wrought, the last Pang of pain is felt and past And the blessed door made fast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARTED by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR RIDDLE: A CANDLE by MOTHER GOOSE THE ONE LOST by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE THREE HERMITS by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS FIRST VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS by JOANNA BAILLIE THE EVE OF BANNOCKBURN by JOHN BARBOUR STANZAS TO A FRIEND by BERNARD BARTON |