Xii

Their steps awoke the quiet dell; The first of men was smiling gay; Still trembled Eve beneath the spell, The mystery of that passion-sway She could not quell.

As they approached the silver strand, He plucked a moss-rose budding sweetly, And wreathing bright her tresses' band, Therein he set the blossom featly, And took her hand:

He led her past the maiden-hair, Forget-me-not, and meadow-sweet, Until the margin held her feet, Like water-lilies fain