Paradise Fancies
i.
Through Paradise garden
A minstrel strays,
An old golden viol
For ever he plays.
Birds fly to his head,
Beasts lie at his feet,
For none of God's angels
Make music so sweet.
And here, far from Eden,
And lonely and mute,
I listen and long:
For my heart is the lute!
ii.
On the topmost bi-anch of the Tree of Life
There hung a ripe red apple.
The angels singing underneath
All praised its crimson dapple.
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