Fair Eve knelt close to the guarded gate in the hush of an Eastern spring, 
She saw the flash of the Angel's sword, the gleam of the Angel's wing. 
And because she was so beautiful, and because she could not see 
How fair were the pure white cyclamens crushed dying at her knee 
He plucked a Rose from the Eden Tree where the four great rivers met,
And sheltered her bosom's thorny pain, 'neath its petals dewy wet.
And though for many a Cycle past that Rose in the dust hath lain 
With her who bore it upon her breast when she passed from grief and pain, 
There was never a daughter of Eve but once, ere the tale of her years be done, 
Shall know the scent of the Eden Rose but once beneath the sun ! 
Though the years may bring her joy or pain, fame, sorrow or sacrifice, 
The hour that brought her the scent of the Rose, she lived it in Paradise.