He didn’t deceive us, that sad, somber spirit

Who wears the morning star as pseudonym

And said: “Shun not the highest gain, nor fear it:

Taste of the fruit and you will equal Him.”

Instantly, for the youth, all roads lay open,

And for old men, all mysteries to know,

And to the maids, amber fruits came bespoken

And gallant unicorns as white as snow.

Then why do we stoop low, drained of all strength,

Sensing that Someone has forgotten us,

And feel the terror of that ancient loss

When by some chance a hand picks up and joins

Two staffs, two flagpoles or two blades of grass

Distinctly in the manner of a cross?