Who fashioned kid and tiger, slayer and slain,
The paradox of evil, and the pain
Which threshes joy as with a winnowing fan:
Satan, of old your custom ’twas at least
To throw an apple to the soul you caught
Robbing your orchard. You, before you wrought
Damnation due and marked it with the beast,
Before its eyes were e’en disposed to dangle
Fruitage delicious. And you would not mangle
Nor maul the body of the dear deceased.