Sydney Dobell (1824–1874)

THERE grew a lowly flower by Eden-gate

Among the thorns and thistles. High the palm

Branch’d o’er her, and imperial by her side

Upstood the sunburnt lily of the East.

The goodly gate swung oft, with many gods

Going and coming, and the spice-winds blew

Music and murmurings, and paradise

Well’d over and enrich’d the outer wild.

Then the palm trembled fast-bound by the feet,

And the imperial Lily bow’d her down

With yearning, but they could not enter in.

The lowly flower she look’d up to the palm

And lily, and at eve was full of dews,

And hung her head and wept and said, ‘Ah these

Are tall and fair, and shall I enter in?’

There came an angel to the gate at even,

A weary angel, with dishevell’d hair;

For he had wander’d far, and as he went,

The blossoms of his crown fell one by one

Thro’ many nights, and seem’d a falling star.

He saw the lovely flower by Eden-gate,

And cried, ‘Ah, pure and beautiful!’ and turn’d

And stoop’d to her and wound her in his hair,

And in his golden hair she enter’d in.

Husband! I was the weed at Eden-gate;

I look’d up to the lily and the palm

Above me, and I wept and said, ‘Ah these

Are tall and fair, and shall I enter in?’

And one came by me to the gate at even,

And stoop’d to me and wound me in his hair

And in his golden hair I enter’d in.