Xvi

The Tempter, glorying in his wile, Hath ta'en his mirror and withdrawn; Again the flowers look up and smile, And brightens off from air and lawn The taint of guile.

But smiles come not again to Eve, Nor brightens off her dark reflection: Her garland-crown she hath ceased to weave, And, plucking, maketh no selection; Only to grieve.

She feels a dewy radiance steep The languid petals of her eyes, And hath another sad surprise, To know the way to weep,