Incarnate¹ devil in a talking snake，

　　The central plains of Asia in his garden，

　　In shaping-time the circle stung awake，

　　In shapes of sin forked out the bearded apple，

　　And God walked there who was a fiddling² warden³

　　And played down pardon from the heavens' hill.

　　When we were strangers to the guided seas，

　　A handmade moon half holy in a cloud，

　　The wisemen tell me that the garden gods

　　Twined good and evil on an eastern tree；

　　And when the moon rose windily it was

　　Black as the beast and paler than the cross.

　　We in our Eden knew the secret guardian⁴

　　In sacred waters that no frost could harden，

　　And in the mighty⁵ mornings of the earth；

　　Hell in a horn of sulphur and the cloven myth，

　　All heaven in the midnight of the sun，

　　A serpent fiddled⁶ in the shaping-time.

Dylan Thomas