Pure as an angel’s dream shone Paradise.
Blue mountains hemmed it round; and airy sighs
Of rippling waters haunted it. Dim glades,
And wayward paths o’erflecked with shimmering shades,
And tangled dells, and wilding pleasances,
Hung moist with odors strange from scented trees.
Sweet sounds o’erbrimmed the place; and rare perfumes,
Faint as far sunshine, fell ’mong verdant glooms.
In that fair land, all hues, all leafage green
Wrapt flawless days in endless summer-sheen.
Bright eyes, the violet waking, lifted up
Where bent the lily her deep, fragrant cup;
And folded buds, ’gainst many a leafy spray—
The wild-woods’ voiceless nuns—knelt down to pray.
There roses, deep in greenest mosses swathed,
Kept happy tryst with tropic blooms, sun-bathed.
No sounds of sadness surged through listening trees:
The waters babbled low; the errant bees
Made answer, murmurous; nor paled the hue
The jonquils wore; nor chill the wild breath grew
Of daisies clustered white in dewy croft;
Nor fell the tasseled plumes as satin soft
Upon the broad-leaved corn. Sweet all the day
O’erflowed with music every woodland way;
And sweet the jargonings of nested bird,
When light the listless wind the forest stirred.
Straight as the shaft that ’gainst the morning sun
The slender palm uprears, the Fairest one—
The first of womankind—sweet Lilith—stood,
A gracious shape that glorified the wood.
About her rounded shoulders warm and bare,
Like netted sunshine fell her lustrous hair;
The rosy flush of young pomegranate bells
Dawned on her cheeks; and blue as in lone dells
Sleep the Forget-me-nots, her eyes. With bent
Brows, sullen-creased, swart Adam gazed intent
Upon a leopard, crouched low in its place
Beneath his feet. Not once in Lilith’s face
He looked, nor sought her wistful, downcast eyes
With shifting shadows dusk, and strange surprise.
“O, Love,” she said, “no more let us contend!
So sweet is life, anger, methinks, should end.
In this, our garden bright, why dost thou claim
Ever the highest place, the noblest name?
Freely to both our Lord gave self-same sway
O’er living things. Love, thou art gone astray!
Twin-born, of equal stature, kindred soul
Are we; like dowed with strength. Yon stars that roll
Their course above, down-looking on my face,
See yours as fair; in neither aught that’s base.
Thy wife, not handmaid I, yet thou dost say,
‘I first in Eden rule.’ Thou, then, hast sway.
Must I, my Adam, mutely follow thee?
Run at thy bidding, crouch beside thy knee?
Lift up (when thou dost bid me) timid eyes?
Not so will Lilith dwell in Paradise.”
“Mine own,” Adam made answer soft, “’twere best
Thou didst forget such ills in noontide rest.
Content I wake, the keeper of the place.
Of equal stature? Yea! Of self-same grace?
Nay, Love; recall those lately vanished eves,
When we together plucked the plantain leaves;
Yon leopard lowly stretched at my command
Its lazy length beneath my soothing hand.
At thee she snarled, disdaining half, to sheathe
’Neath thy soft pleading eyes her milk-white teeth.
Oft, Love, in other times, in sheltered nook,
We scattered pearly millet by the brook.
Lo thine lay barren in the sand. Quick mine
Upspringing sifts o’er pale blooms odors fine:
Hateful thy chidings grow; each breeze doth bring
Ever thy plaints—thy fretful murmuring.
These many days I weary of thy sighs;
Know, Lilith, I alone rule Paradise.”
Thereat he rose, and quick at every stride
The fawning leopard gambolled at his side.
So fell the first dark shadow of Earth’s strife.
With coming evil all the winds were rife.
Lone lay the land with sense of dull loss paled.
The days grew sick at heart; the sunshine failed;
And falling waters breathed in silvery moan
A hidden ail to starlit dells alone—
As sometimes you have seen, ’neath household eaves,
’Mong scents of Springtime, in the budded leaves,
The swallows circling blithe, with slant brown wing,
Home-flying fleet, with tender chattering,
And all the place o’errun with nested love—
So have you come, when leaves hung crisp above
The silent door. Yet not again, I ween,
Those shining wings, cleaving the air, have seen
Nor heard the gladsome swallows twittering there—
Only the empty nests, low-hung and bare,
Spake of the scattered brood.—So lonely were
To Lilith grown her once loved haunts. Nor fair
The starlit nights, slow-dropping fragrant dew,
Nor the dim groves when dawn came shifting through.
Far ’mong the hills the wood-doves’ moan she heard,
Or in some nearer copse, a startled bird;
Or the white moonshine ’mong green boughs o’erhead
Wrought her full heart to tears. “Sweet peace,” she said,
“Alas—lies slain!”
With musing worn, she brake
At last her silence, and to Adam spake:
“Beyond these walls I know not what may be—
Islands low-fringed, or bare; or tranquil sea,
Spaces unpeopled, wastes of burning sands,
Green-wooded belts, enclasping summer lands,
Or realms of dusky pines, or wolds of snow,
Or jagged ice-peaks wrapt in purple glow,
Or shadowy oceans lapped in fadeless sheen—
Yet there were Paradise, were Lilith queen.
To dally with my lord I was not meant;
To soothe his idle whims, above him

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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