Vii

Next day, when early evening shone Along the walks of Paradise, Strewing with gold the hills, her throne, Embarrassing the winds with spice (Too rich a loan),

Fair Eve was in her bower of ease, A cool arcade of fruit and flowers,

From North and East enclasped by trees, But open to the Western showers, And Southern breeze.

Here followed she her gardening trade, Her favourites' simple needs attending, And singing soft, above them bending, A song herself had made.