The happy things that did not fall,"
I sighed, "from every coppice call
They never from that garden went.
Behold their joy, so comfort thee,
Behold the blossom and the bee,
For they are yet as good and free
As when poor Eve was innocent

"But reason thus: 'If we sank low,
If the lost garden we forego,
Each in his day, nor ever know
But in our poet souls its face;
Yet we may rise until we reach
A height untold of in its speech--
A lesson that it could not teach
Learn in this darker dwelling-place.

"And reason on: 'We take the spoil;
Loss made us poets, and the soil
Taught us great patience in our toil,
And life is kin to God through death.
Christ were not One with us but so,
And if bereft of Him we go;
Dearer the heavenly mansions grow,
HIS home, to man that wandereth.'

"Content thee so, and ease thy smart."
With that she slept again, my heart,
And I admired and took my part
With crowds of happy things the while: