Paradise Must Be Lost

by Peter Simon


Paradise must be lost
For bleeding Earth surrounds.
Exquisite though the clouds,
Bliss seeming without bound

Is fragment of a whole
Too knit for eye to see;
And partial perfections
Exist imperfectly

So long as past their bar
The fanged delusions rend,
And the tormented cry,
And horrors writhe uncleansed.

Shall raving limbs be calmed
And blinded stumbling end?
When palpable hands soothe,
Unwinged backs bend.