Did any beast come pushing
  Through the thorny hedge 10
Into the thorny thistly world,
  Out from Eden’s edge?

I think not a lion,
  Though his strength is such;
But an innocent loving lamb
  May have done as much.

If the dove preached from her bough
  and the lamb from his sod,
The lamb and dove
  Were preachers sent from God. 20

EVE

’While I sit at the door
Sick to gaze within
Mine eye weepeth sore
For sorrow and sin: 
As a tree my sin stands
To darken all lands;
Death is the fruit it bore.

’How have Eden bowers grown
Without Adam to bend them! 
How have Eden flowers blown 10
Squandering their sweet breath
Without me to tend them! 
The Tree of Life was ours,
Tree twelvefold-fruited,
Most lofty tree that flowers,
Most deeply rooted: 
I chose the tree of death.

’Hadst thou but said me nay,
Adam, my brother,
I might have pined away; 20
I, but none other: 
God might have let thee stay
Safe in our garden,
By putting me away
Beyond all pardon.

’I, Eve, sad mother
Of all who must live,
I, not another
Plucked bitterest fruit to give
My friend, husband, lover—­ 30
O wanton eyes, run over;
Who but I should grieve?—­
Cain hath slain his brother: 
Of all who must die mother,
Miserable Eve!’

Thus she sat weeping,
Thus Eve our mother,
Where one lay sleeping
Slain by his brother. 
Greatest and least 40
Each piteous beast
To hear her voice
Forgot his joys
And set aside his feast.

The mouse paused in his walk
And dropped his wheaten stalk;
Grave cattle wagged their heads
In rumination;
The eagle gave a cry
From his cloud station; 50
Larks on thyme beds
Forbore to mount or sing;
Bees drooped upon the wing;
The raven perched on high
Forgot his ration;
The conies in their rock,
A feeble nation,
Quaked sympathetical;
The mocking-bird left off to mock;
Huge camels knelt as if 60
In deprecation;
The kind hart’s tears were falling;
Chattered the wistful stork;
Dove-voices with a dying fall
Cooed desolation
Answering grief by grief.

Only the serpent in the dust
Wriggling and crawling,
Grinned an evil grin and thrust
His tongue out with its fork. 70

GROWN AND FLOWN

I loved my love from green of Spring
  Until sere Autumn’s fall;
But now that leaves are withering
  How should one love at all? 
  One heart’s too small
For hunger, cold, love, everything.