Forth from your brain, its crater, hurrying down,
Took the chance mould; the vapour blowing by
Caught and reflected back some random shapes.
A vague and queasy dream was obstinate
In waking thoughts to find itself renewed,
And lo! the mighty Mythus of the Fall!
Nay, smile with me, sweet mother!
Eve. Guilt! oh, guilt!
Adam. Peace, woman, peace; I go.
Eve. Nay, Adam, nay;