The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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II. |
III. |
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V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
The Poetical Works of George Barlow | ||
341
ADAM AND EVE
THE FIRST NIGHT IN PARADISE
343
O Eve, the darkness deepens. Yet I see
Through the tall branches of this flowering tree
Faint streaks of light. 'Twas there the sun sank low.
Eve.
Adam, the sunshine made the sweet earth glad,
But now I tremble. Darkness makes me sad:
I thought the golden sun would never go.
Adam.
And yet, as fades the sun, the tender light
In thine eyes, Eve, seems ever to grow bright:
The sun is little, so that I have thee.
Eve.
Thou art my lord and king. I cannot fear:
The deepening darkness draws our souls more near:
The day was sweet, and sweet the night will be.
344
See—from the branches of the trees depend
Lamps many-coloured, glowing without end
From branch and branch,—or are they in the sky?
Eve.
I know not. Now, behold, a ghostly sun,
White in the darkness, rises there alone,
And, flashing into silver, floats on high.
Adam.
O Eve, the flowers were sweet, the day was bright:
But is not darkness sweeter than the light?
For now our lips seem nearer. Let them meet!
Eve.
My limbs feel heavy with the sultry day.
There's mystery in that white lamp's glittering ray!
Why does my heart at your lips' pressure beat?
Adam.
I call these small lamps, stars—that lamp, the moon.
Rest in my arms: the sun may rise up soon;
More golden than all sunshine is thine hair.
345
I love this darkness better than the light:
I feared to touch thee then. But now 'tis right
In thine embrace to rest. I'm happy there!
Adam.
And, Eve, I worship thee, and not the light.
This darkness, which I call our bridal night,
Is sent by God that I may treasure thee.
Eve.
I love the darkness better than the day.
The fruits my red lips fondled fade away,
And now thy lips assert their sovereignty.
Adam.
Let us pray God the sun may never rise!
I never looked before deep in thine eyes:
I never felt that thou wast wholly won.
Eve.
Adam, God took the sun away for this,
Lest it should wax quite jealous of my kiss:
But, Adam, I love thee and not the sun.
The Poetical Works of George Barlow | ||