Of subtly-fashioned limb;
Whose motion, force and will to be,
Kept yet their prison dim.
And round about his couch of slumber
The rest a space did make:
“Your peace” (the Mother told her children)
“Is broken, if he wake!
“Lo! this—the best of all created—
Shall yet an evil bring:
And ye in doubt shall graze the pasture,