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      Adam. Adam loved Eve. Jehovah pardon both!

      Eve. Adam forgave Eve – because loving Eve.

      Lucifer. So, well. Yet Adam was undone of Eve,

      As both were by the snake. Therefore forgive,

      In like wise, fellow-temptress, the poor snake —

      Who stung there, not so poorly! [Aside.

      Eve. Hold thy wrath,

      Beloved Adam! let me answer him;

      For this time he speaks truth, which we should hear,

      And asks for mercy, which I most should grant,

      In like wise, as he tells us – in like wise!

      And therefore I thee pardon, Lucifer,

      As freely as the streams of Eden flowed

      When we were happy by them. So, depart;

      Leave us to walk the remnant of our time

      Out mildly in the desert. Do not seek

      To harm us any more or scoff at us,

      Or ere the dust be laid upon our face,

      To find there the communion of the dust

      And issue of the dust, – Go!

      Adam. At once, go!

      Lucifer. Forgive! and go! Ye images of clay,

      Shrunk somewhat in the mould, – what jest is this?

      What words are these to use? By what a thought

      Conceive ye of me? Yesterday – a snake!

      To-day – what?

      Adam. A strong spirit.

      Eve. A sad spirit.

      Adam. Perhaps a fallen angel. – Who shall say!

      Lucifer. Who told thee, Adam?

      Adam. Thou! The prodigy

      Of thy vast brows and melancholy eyes

      Which comprehend the heights of some great fall.

      I think that thou hast one day worn a crown

      Under the eyes of God.

      Lucifer. And why of God?

      Adam. It were no crown else. Verily, I think

      Thou'rt fallen far. I had not yesterday

      Said it so surely, but I know to-day

      Grief by grief, sin by sin.

      Lucifer. A crown, by a crown.

      Adam. Ay, mock me! now I know more than I knew:

      Now I know that thou art fallen below hope

      Of final re-ascent.

      Lucifer. Because?

      Adam. Because

      A spirit who expected to see God

      Though at the last point of a million years,

      Could dare no mockery of a ruined man

      Such as this Adam.

      Lucifer. Who is high and bold —

      Be it said passing! – of a good red clay

      Discovered on some top of Lebanon,

      Or haply of Aornus, beyond sweep

      Of the black eagle's wing! A furlong lower

      Had made a meeker king for Eden. Soh!

      Is it not possible, by sin and grief

      (To give the things your names) that spirits should rise

      Instead of falling?

      Adam. Most impossible.

      The Highest being the Holy and the Glad,

      Whoever rises must approach delight

      And sanctity in the act.

      Lucifer. Ha, my clay-king!

      Thou wilt not rule by wisdom very long

      The after generations. Earth, methinks,

      Will disinherit thy philosophy

      For a new doctrine suited to thine heirs,

      And class these present dogmas with the rest

      Of the old-world traditions, Eden fruits

      And Saurian fossils.

      Eve. Speak no more with him,

      Beloved! it is not good to speak with him.

      Go from us, Lucifer, and speak no more!

      We have no pardon which thou dost not scorn,

      Nor any bliss, thou seest, for coveting,

      Nor innocence for staining. Being bereft,

      We would be alone. – Go!

      Lucifer. Ah! ye talk the same,

      All of you – spirits and clay – go, and depart!

      In Heaven they said so, and at Eden's gate,

      And here, reiterant, in the wilderness.

      None saith, Stay with me, for thy face is fair!

      None saith, Stay with me, for thy voice is sweet!

      And yet I was not fashioned out of clay.

      Look on me, woman! Am I beautiful?

      Eve. Thou hast a glorious darkness.

      Lucifer. Nothing more?

      Eve. I think, no more.

      Lucifer. False Heart – thou thinkest more!

      Thou canst not choose but think, as I praise God,

      Unwillingly but fully, that I stand

      Most absolute in beauty. As yourselves

      Were fashioned very good at best, so we

      Sprang very beauteous from the creant Word

      Which thrilled behind us, God himself being moved

      When that august work of a perfect shape,

      His dignities of sovran angel-hood,

      Swept out into the universe, – divine

      With thunderous movements, earnest looks of gods,

      And silver-solemn clash of cymbal wings.

      Whereof was I, in motion and in form,

      A part not poorest. And yet, – yet, perhaps,

      This beauty which I speak of, is not here,

      As God's voice is not here, nor even my crown —

      I do not know. What is this thought or thing

      Which I call beauty? Is it thought, or thing?

      Is it a thought accepted for a thing?

      Or both? or neither? – a pretext – a word?

      Its meaning flutters in me like a flame

      Under my own breath, my perceptions reel

      For evermore around it, and fall off,

      As if it too were holy.

      Eve. Which it is.

      Adam. The essence of all beauty, I

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