University of Virginia Library


25

Adam had lost his memory by the stroke
Of that celestial sword's transfixing flame,
And so forgot his dream when he awoke.
Yet did its unremember'd secret claim
Release from dull oblivion's daily yoke
In moments rare. He knew not whence they came,
Nor was it in his power to reinvoke
Their coming: but at times thro' all his frame
He felt them, like an inward voice that spoke
Of things which have on earth no utter'd name;
And sometimes like a sudden light they broke
Upon his darkest hours, and put to shame
His dull despondency, his fierce unrest,
His sordid toil, and miserable strife.
These rare brief moments Adam deem'd his best,
And call'd them all The Poetry of Life.