Through Eden’s fresh and flowering shades of yore!
Now are the fountains dried on that sweet spot,
And ye—our faded earth beholds you not.
Yet, by your shining eyes not all forsaken,
Man wander’d from his Paradise away;
Ye, from forgetfulness his heart to waken,
Came down, high guests! in many a later day,
And with the patriarchs, under vine or oak,
Midst noontide calm or hush of evening, spoke.
From you, the veil of midnight darkness rending,