Eve by Mabel Forrest

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Day, with a golden knife, has peeled the Night,
Devouring it with red, impatient lips,
And he has left, high in the trembling sky,
A silver rind.
      Men think it is the ghost  
Of the full moon that rose all glorious 
To deck the breast of God.
      But Eve, who lies
Sick with delights amidst her broken flowers,
Knows it to be the shred of that bright fruit
The Tree of Knowledge yielded in the dark.

First published in The Australasian, 9 April 1927

Author reference sites: AustlitAustralian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on April 9, 2014 7:48 AM.

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