Classic Poem

'T was Adam at the gates of Paradise;
Sick with the world's first sickness, prostrate, pale,
Low lay he, in his pain. And they made wail
That stood by him: " O father, dim your eyes
And filmed; they cannot see the dreadful skies.
Across the heavens black cloud-wings reach and sail,
And prowling shadow crouches in the vale.
What burden, father, on the hurt earth lies? "
" I hunger, wife and children, for the bough
Whereof I ate. Go thou, swift-footed Seth,
And pluck from that sweet tree. " —
With eyes mist-dim
He looked on it. " Nay, wife, nay, children, now
Is here the one He spake of to me, — Death;
With hollow voice he bids me follow him. "