Page:New poems and variant readings, Stevenson, 1918.djvu/113

Rh 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.

THE ANGLER ROSE, HE TOOK HIS ROD