A residence sadly exposed to wind and rain. But I in all submit to you; and then I turned out too, and trudged a furlong’s space, Till you fell tired and fain would wait for morn. So as our nightly journey we began, Because the autumnal fruitage that had fallen From trees whereunder we had slept, lay thick, And we had eaten overnight, and seen, And saw again by starlight when you woke me, A sly and harmless snake glide by our couch; And because, some few hours before, a lamb Fell from a rock and broke its neck, and I Had answered, to your wonder, that ’twas dead, Forsooth the molten lava of your fright Forth from your brain, its crater, hurrying down, Took the chance mould; the vapour blowing by Caught and reflected back some random shapes. A vague and queasy dream was obstinate In waking thoughts to find itself renewed, And lo! the mighty Mythus of the Fall! Nay, smile with me, sweet mother! _Eve._ Guilt! oh, guilt! _Adam._ Peace, woman, peace; I go. _Eve._ Nay, Adam, nay; Hear me,—I am not dreaming, am not crazed. Did not yourself confess that we are changed? Do not you too? _Adam._ Do not I too? Well, well, Listen! I too when homeward, weary of toil, Through the dark night I have wandered in rain and wind, Bewildered, haply scared, I too have lost heart, And deemed all space with angry power replete, Angry, almighty—and panic-stricken have cried, ‘What have I done?’ ‘What wilt thou do to me?’ Or with the coward’s ‘No, I did not, I will not,’ Belied my own soul’s self. I too have heard, And listened, too, to a voice that in my ear Hissed the temptation to curse God, or worse, And yet more frequent, curse myself and die; Until, in fine, I have begun to half believe _Your_ dream _my_ dream too, and the dream of both No dream but dread reality; have shared Your fright: e’en so share thou, sweet life, my hope; I too, again, when weeds with growth perverse Have choked my corn and marred a season’s toil, Have deemed I heard in heaven abroad a cry, ‘Cursed is the ground for thy sake; thou art cursed.’ But oftener far, and stronger also far, In consonance with all things out and in, I hear a voice more searching bid me, ‘On! On! on! it is the folly of the child To choose his path and straightway think it wrong, And turn right back and lie on the ground to weep. Forward! go, conquer! work and live!’ Withal A word comes, half command, half prophecy, ‘Forgetting things behind thee, onward press Unto the mark of your high calling.’ Yea, And voices, too, in woods and flowery fields Speak confidence from budding banks and boughs, And tell me, ‘Live and grow,’ and say, ‘Look still Upward, spread outward, trust, be patient, live;’ Therefore, if weakness bid me curse and die, I answer, No! I will not curse myself, Nor aught beside; I shall not die, but live.