Chapter 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.