EVE, on a morning, paused before the Gate— The angel with the sword had long been gone, Naught save a swaying creeper kept the bar That night had hung her silver nets upon— Parting the living screen, the woman stood And gazed upon that lost and lovely land; No voice forbade, only a little wind, Sighing, laid a soft rose-leaf on her hand. Morning was there while still the cool of night Lay greenly cupped in shallow valleys where Gay plumage lit the shadow with faint fire And limned with beauty the slow-moving air. The little pool? Tall reeds had robbed its marge Whereby a solitary heron dipped, The once-trod paths were high with plumey grass Through whose grey depths a gleaming leopard slipped. Her long gaze hurried down the pillared trees, Past transepts of dim silence, sweetly chill, Until it rested with an old content Upon the sudden glory of a hill. Here in lost days the sun came like a king And wind and flowers swayed in endless games. While all the shy new beasts stood patient by What time they came to Adam for their names. Beyond the hill—but why again pursue That unreturning anguish of delight When from ferned covert she and Adam peered And watched their first moon climb into the night— A moment so Eve stood—then let the vine Fall swinging from her hand and turned away— "The children will be waking now," she thought, "And Adam plans to break new ground to-day." |