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soul'd flowers, with robes so bright Fair guests of Eden birth, In changeful characters of light, What lines of love divine ye write Upon this troubled earth!

Man sinn'd in Paradise, and fell— But when the storm arose— When thorns and brambles sow'd his path, And gentlest natures turn'd to wrath, Ye leagued not with his foes.

Ye sinn'd not, though to him ye clung, When, at the guarded door, The penal sword its terrors flung, And warn'd him, with its flaming tongue, To enter there no more