Within my soul, of how the world might come,
In time, to be a garden, such as was
Eden upon the hills, which first the dawn
Silvers, and broiders with her rosy veils:
Eden, where you and I were left, alone!
Ah, love, perchance our love might recreate
Again that garden walled from our desire!’
“When he had ended, his strong hand was laid
On my slim hand, his fingers twined with mine,
His eyes fed on mine eyes; and thus we stood