| |
| WHEN first the unflowering Fern-forest | |
| Shadowed the dim lagoons of old, | |
| A vague unconscious long unrest | |
| Swayed the great fronds of green and gold. | |
| |
| Until the flexible stems grew rude, | 5 |
| The fronds began to branch and bower, | |
| And lo! upon the unblossoming wood | |
| There breaks a dawn of apple-flower. | |
| |
| Then on the fruitful Forest-bough | |
| For ages long the unquiet ape | 10 |
| Swung happy in his airy house | |
| And plucked the apple and sucked the grape. | |
| |
| Until in him at length there stirred | |
| The old, unchanged, remote distress, | |
| That pierced his world of wind and bird | 15 |
| With some divine unhappiness. | |
| |
| Not Love, nor the wild fruits he sought; | |
| Nor the fierce battles of his clan | |
| Could still the unborn and aching thought | |
| Until the brute became the man. | 20 |
| |
| Long since.… And now the same unrest | |
| Goads to the same invisible goal, | |
| Till some new gift, undreamed, unguessed, | |
| End the new travail of the soul. | |
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