O’er his trousers that bagged at the knees,
Unheard of were fashion’s decrees
Her dolmans she knew how to weave
From grape-leaves with greatest of ease,
What a life led our relative, Eve!
Her stew-pans she wrought out of clay
Her knives were the shells of the seas,
And she dined on a spicy entrée
Of grapes and some ape-fricassees.
To sleep with the toes to the breeze