t her benignant and fair--
Was she of Adam an actual part?
Love shining over her everywhere--
Had he no trouble in winning her heart?

Born with a mind even Kant must admit
Had no antecedents for doubt or regret,
Only white paper where nothing is writ,
Was she his wife the first moment they met?
Did she no gradual wooing receive?
Was she never a girl?--I am sorry for Eve!

Or if like others her history sped,
In those lovely regions to mortals unknown;
Flirting and courting and woo'd ere she wed,
Was the bird of her paradise Eve's chaperone?

I wonder if Adam my fancy would strike
As something like Harry!--What _is_ Harry like?
Handsome and tall, with command in his eye,
The sweetest of smiles giving sternness the lie;
His soldierly bearing keeps foemen at bay;
His hair is clipped close in the orthodox way;
His nose has a curve from the bridge to the tip:
A statue might envy his short upper lip.
He dances divinely, and walks with an air
Half autocratic and half debonair,
With something about him no words can define:
Eve, was your hero as handsome as mine?

And oh! the years that pass'd over my head
When I was leisurely growing or grown;
And oh! the minutes that suddenly led
To the sweetest thought that ever was known.

Only one glad little glance that I gave,
Where by the window the passion-flower grew,
And a strong man was turn'd into a slave,
Watching and waiting for all that I do.

And a strong man's heart beat only for me--
Only for me while it answers life's call;
Till _I_ was compell'd to hear and to see;
And only one little look did it all!

Oh, such an infinitesimal thing!
One unthought-of minute hurrying by,
And the whole of two lives yet in their spring
Are utterly chang'd for ever and aye!

If with idle heart and with careless eyes
I had not happened just there and just then
To smile at a flower beneath the skies,
Should I never have lov'd the first of men?

Had he seen me first in a festal hour,
Or riding, or driving, or by the sea,
And not with a smile for the passion-flower,
Would he never, never have cared for me?

Who planted the root, and its climbing plann'd?
Who water'd below or cherish'd above?
Is it the work of a gardener's hand
That causes my Harry and me to love?

Had that gardener never been born or hir'd,
Or done this one insignificant thing;
Had the