I think that Eve first told the callow Tree of apples,

And taught the adolescent Serpent how to hiss

Its first wise word.

I think the Angel with the Flaming Sword

Followed her with hot holy eyes,

Remembering the red curve of her kiss

As she passed out of Paradise.

See, how the apple-boughs are twisted in their pain,

Weighed down with many a red-cheeked little Cain,

And how the serpent writhes away

From man to this far day.

An angel is a lovely lonely thing

Of boundless wing.

They are the banished ones that grieve;

Not Eve!

Not Eve, her body quick with coming pride,

Nor Adam walking there at her white side—

A little heavily perhaps,

Because of things scarce known,

As yet not named:

New tenderness for Eve, but not for Eve alone,

Fears not yet fears—

And out beyond, the world untamed

Of which to make

Their surer paradise of tears!

But in the Garden is a hallowed emptiness

Of laws, forgotten now,

Concerning fruit and flowers,

That none shall ever bless

Or break;

And in the Garden is the one plucked Bough

That blossoms whimpering

Through a divine monotony

Of Spring on spring.

This poem is in the public domain. I thought this poem was so beautiful and oddly contemporary, considering it was published in 1926. I’m putting it here so I always have it.