The tears were still in woman's eyes, When morn awoke on Paradise; And still her sense of shame forbade To tell her grievance, or upbraid;
Nor knew she which was dearer cost, To seek him, or to shun him most Then Adam, willing to believe A heart by casual fancy moved
Would soon come back, at voice she loved, Addressed his song to Eve. “Come fairest, while the morn is fair, And dews are bright as yon clear eyes;
Calm down this tide of troubled hair, Forget with me all other sighs Than summer air. “Like me, the woodland shadows roam
At light ( their fairer comrade's ) side; And peace and joy salute our home; And lo, the sun in all his pride — My sunshine, come!
“The fawns and birds, that know our call, Are waiting for our presence — see, They wait my presence, love; and thee, The most desired of all.
“The trees, which thought it grievous thing To weep their own sweet leaves away, Untaught as yet how soon the Spring Upon their nestled heads should lay
Her callow wing — “The trees, whereat we smiled again, To see them, in their growing wonder, Suppose their buds were verdant rain,
Until the gay winds rustled under Their feathered train, “Lo, now they stand in braver mien, And, claiming stronger shadow-right,
Make prisoner of the intrusive light, And strew the winds with green. “Of all the flowers that bow the head, Or gaze erect on sun and sky,
Not one there is, declines to sned, Or standeth up, to qualify His incense-meed: “Of all that blossom one by one,
Or join their lips in loving cluster, Not one hath now resolved alone, Or taken counsel, that his lustre Shall be unshown.
“So let thy soul a blossom be, To breathe the fragrance of its praise, And lift itself, in early days, To Him who fosters thee.
“Of all the founts, bedropped with light, Or silver-tress'd with shade of trees, Not one there is, but sprinkles bright It's plume of freshness on the breeze,
And jewelled flight: “Of all that hush among the moss, Or babble to the lily-vases, Not one there is but purls across
A gush of the delight, that causes It's limpid gloss. “So let thy heart a fountain be, To rise in sparkling joy, and fall
In dimpled melody — and all For love of home, and me.” The only fount her heart became Rose quick with sighs, and fell in tears;
While pink upon her white cheek came, ( Like apple-blossom among pear's ) The tinge of shame. Her husband, pierced with new alarm,
Bent nigh to ask of her distresses, Enclasping her with sheltering arm, Unwinding by discreet caresses, The thread of harm.
Then she, with sobs of slow relief ( For silence is the jail of care ) Confessed, for him to heal or share, The first of human grief.
“I cannot look on thee, and think That thou has ceased to hold me dear; I cannot break the loosened link: When thou, my only one, art near,
How can I shrink? “So it were better, love — I mean, My lord, it is more wise and right — That I, as one whose day hath been,
Should keep my pain from pleasure's sight, And dwell unseen. “And — though it break my heart to say — However sad my loneliness,
I fear thou wouldst rejoice in this — To have me far away. “I know not how it is with man, Perhaps his nature is to change,
On finding consort fairer than — But oh, I cannot so arrange My nature's plan! “And haply thou hast never thought
To vex, or make me feel forsaken; But, since to thee the thing was nought, Supposed‘ twould be as gaily taken, As lightly brought.
“Yet, is it strange that I repine, And feel abased in lonely woe, To lose thy love — or e'en to know That half of it is mine?
“For whom have I on earth but thee, What heart to love, or home to bless? Albeit I was wrong, I see, To think my husband took no less
Delight in me. “But even now, if thou wilt stay, Or try at least no more to wander, And let me love thee, day by day,
Till time, or habit, make thee fonder ( If so it may ) — “Thou shalt have one more truly bent, In homely wise, on serving thee,
Than any stranger e'er can be; And Eve shall seem content.” Not loud she wept — but hope could hear; Sweet hope, who in his lifelong race
Made terms, to win the goal from fear, That each alternate step should trace A smile and tear. But Adam, lost in wide amaze,
Regarded her with troubled glances, Misdoubting‘ neath her steady gaze, Himself to be in strange romances, And dreamy haze:
Then questioning in hurried voice, And scarcely waiting her replies, He spoke, and showed the true surprise That made her soul rejoice.
She told him what the Tempter said, And what her frightened self had seen, ( That form in loveliness arrayed, With modest face, and graceful mien )
And how displayed. Then well-content to show his bride The worldly knowledge he possessed, ( That world whereof was none beside )
He laid his hand upon his breast, And thus replied:— “Wife, mirror'd here too deep to see, “A little way down yonder path,
“And I will show the form which hath “Enchanted thee, and me.” Kadisha is a streamlet fair, Which hurries down the pebbled way,
As one who hath small time to spare, So far to go, so much to say To summer air; Sometimes the wavelets wimple in
O'erlapping tiers of crystal shelves, And little circles dimple in, As if the waters quaffed themselves, The while they spin:
Thence in a clear pool, overbent With lotus-tree and tamarind flower, Empearled, and lulled in golden bower, Kadisha sleeps content.
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 “Behold,” he cried, “on yonder wave, The only one with whom I stray,
The only image still I have, Too often, even while I pray To Him who gave. The form she saw was long unknown,
Except as that beheld yestreen; Till viewing, not that form alone, But his, with hands enclasped between, She guessed her own.
And, bending o'er in sweet surprise, Perused, with simple child's delight, The flowing hair, and forehead white, And soft inquiring eyes.
Then, blushing to a fairer tint Than waves might ever hope to catch, “I see,” she cried, “a lovely print; But surely I can never match
This lily glint! “So pure, so innocent, and bright, So charming free, without endeavour, So fancy-touched with pensive light I
I think that I could gaze for ever, With new delight “And now that rose-bud in my hair, Perhaps it should be placed above —
And yet, I will not change it, love, Since mou hast set it there. “Vain Eve, why glory thus in Eve? What matter Tor thy form or face?
Thy beauty is, if love believe Thee worthy of that treasured place Thou ne'er shalt leave. “Oh, husband; mine and mine alone,
Take back my faith that dared to wander; Forgive my joy to have thee shown Not transient, as thine image yonder, But all my own.
“And, love, if this be vain of me, This pleasure, and the pride I take; Tis only for thy dearer sake, To be so fair to thee.”
No more she said; but smiling fell, And lost her sorrow on his breast; Her love-bright eyes upon him dwell, Like troubled waters laid at rest
In comfort's well: Tis nothing more, an’ if she weep, Than joy she cannot else reveal; As onyx-gems of Pison keep
A tear-vein, where the sun may steal Throughout their deep. May every Adam's fairer part Thus, only thus, a rival find —
The image of herself, enshrined Within the faithful heart!
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