  Down the palm-way from Eden in the moist Midnight lay Eve by her outdriven mate, Pillowed on lilies that still told the sweet Of birth within the Garden's ecstasy. Pitiful round her face that could not lose Its memory of God's perfecting was strewn Her troubled hair, and sigh grieved after sigh Along her loveliness in the white moon. Sudden her dream, too cruelly impent With pain, broke and a cry fled shuddering Into the wounded stillness from her lips. Then, cold, she fearfully felt for his hand, While tears, that had before ne'er visited Her lids with anguish, stinging traced her cheeks. "Oh, Adam!" then as a wild shadow burst Her moan on the pale air, "What have I dreamed? Now do I understand His words, so dim To creatures that had quivered but with bliss! Since at the dusk thy kiss to me, and I Wept at caresses that were once all joy, The uncreated ages visibly! Foresuffering phantoms crowded in the womb Of Time, and all with lamentable mien Accusing thee and me! And some were far From birth, without a name, but others near— Sodom and dark Gomorrah ... from whose flames Fleeing one turned ... how like her look to mine When the tree's horror trembled on my taste! And Nineveh, a city sinking slow Under a shroud of sandy centuries That hid me not from the buried cursing eyes Of women who gave birth! And Babylon, Upbuilded on our sin but for a day! Ah, to be mother of all misery! To be first-called out of the earth and fail For a whole world! To shame maternity For women evermore—women whose tears Flooding the night, no hope can wipe away! To see the wings of Death, as, Adam, thou Hast not, endlessly beating, and to hear The swooning ages suffer up to God! And O that birth-cry of a guiltless child! In it are sounding of our sin and woe, With prophesy of ill beyond all years! Yearning for beauty never to be seen— Beatitude redeemless evermore! Must hear it soon! Already do soft skill, Low-babbled lulls, enticings and quick tones Of tenderness—that will like light awake The folded memory children shall bring Out of the dark—move in me longingly. Yet thou, Adam, dear fallen thought of God, Thou, when thou too shall hear humanity Cry in thy child, wilt groaning wish the world Back in unsummoned Void! and, woe! wilt fill God's ear with troubled wonder and unrest!" Softly he soothed her straying hair, and kissed The fever from her lips. Over the palms The sad moon poured her peace into their eyes, Till Sleep, the angel of forgetfulness, Folded again her wings above their rest. |
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