Men Are Heaven's Piers

MEN are Heaven's piers; they evermore

Unwearying bear the skyey floor;

Man's theatre they bear with ease,

Unfrowning cariatides!

I, for my wife, the sun uphold,

Or, dozing, strike the seasons cold.

She, on her side, in fairy-wise

Deals in diviner mysteries,

By spells to make the fuel burn

And keep the parlour warm, to turn

Water to wine, and stones to bread,

By her unconquered hero-head.

A naked Adam, naked Eve,

Alone the primal bower we weave;

Sequestered in the seas of life,

A Crusoe couple, man and wife,

With all our good, with all our will,

Our unfrequented isle we fill;

And victor in day's petty wars,

Each for the other lights the stars.

Come then, my Eve, and to and fro

Let us about our garden go;

And, grateful-hearted, hand in hand

Revisit all our tillage land,

And marvel at our strange estate,

For hooded ruin at the gate

Sits watchful, and the angels fear

To see us tread so boldly here.

Meanwhile, my Eve, with flower and grass

Our perishable days we pass;

Far more the thorn observe - and see

How our enormous sins go free -

Nor less admire, beside the rose,

How far a little virtue goes.