Vi

"Oh; love, if e'er this desert plain, Where I must sweat with axe and spade, Shall hold a people sprung from twain, Or better made by Him, who made That pair in vain.

"Shall any know, as we have known, Thy rapture, terror, vaunting, fretting, Profound despair, ecstatic tone, Crowning of reason, and upsetting Of reason's throne?

"Bright honey quaffed from cells of gall, Or crimson sting from creamy rose-- Thy heavenly half from Eden flows, Thy venom from our fall."

Awhile he ceased; far scorching woe Had made a drought of vocal flow; When hungry, weary, desolate, A fox crept home to his defis gate. The sight brought Adam's memory back, And touched him with a keener lack.