III

A little while before the Fall was done

A day came when the frail year paused and said:

“Behold! a little while and I am dead;

Wilt thou not choose, of all the old dreams, one?”

Then dwelt I in a garden, where the sun

Shone always, and the roses all were red;

Far off, the great sea slept, and overhead,

Among the robins, matins had begun.

And I knew not at all it was a dream

Only, and that the year was near its close;

Garden and sunshine, robin-song and rose,

The half-heard murmur and the distant gleam

Of all the unvext sea, a little space

Were as a mist above the Autumn's face.