Ay: and back again.
[477].
This poem for its full beauty must be read very slowly. Eve in long memory is musing within herself, hardly able to utter the words, because of her grief and sorrow, and of the heavy sighs between them.
"Death is the Fruit."
I am Eve, great Adam's wife,
'Tis I that outraged Jesus of old;
'Tis I that robbed my children of Heaven,
By rights 'tis I that should have gone upon the Cross....
There would be no ice in any place,
There would be no glistening windy winter,