Classic Poem

When Eve went out from Paradise
With looks distraught and sad surmise,
And when she tried to make a home
For Adam in the thorny land,
By kinship I can understand
The homesick longing that would come,
The sad and lonely memories
Of Eden trees and Eden skies.

At sunset, when her work was done,
Perchance she sat to muse alone
And hear the Eden waters flow.
The birds might sing and she be mute,
Still tasting in her mouth the fruit —
That sweet beginning of her woe.
Perchance some bird that she had fed
Would come to flutter overhead;
Some happy bird that built his nest
Within the cherub-guarded spot.
Would come to thrill her aching breast
With tender jargon, unforgot;
Or bring her in his beak a flower
She planted in a peaceful hour.

What heritage, O weeping Eve,
Your wistful daughters yet receive
Of yearnings and of longing pain
For that which may not come again!
What dim, inherited desire
Still thwarted by the swords of fire!

Yet when the riot garden-close
Just hints the coming of the rose;
When sumptuous tulips burst apart
And rock the wild bee, heart to heart;
When languid butterflies a-swing
From apple-blossoms droop the wing;
When purple iris by the wall,
Imperial iris, proud and tall,
With white narcissus, is a-blow,
And nodding lilies, row by row;
When hoyden creepers run apace
To kiss the lime-rock's wrinkled face;
When snowball turns from green to white,
And keeps the secret that she knows,
The pretty secret, out of sight,
Wherein the robin's household grows;
And when we pace the pleached aisles
And share, with tender words and smiles,
The beauty of the summer feast, —
'T is then we miss our Eden least.