The Fall (The disciple)

The Fall (The disciple)

(The Saviour of the World, Vol IV Book IV Poem LXIV)

Alas, sweet souls, ye fell! but not so low,
Ah, not so low as we! Abashed are ye
Where God was all a separate self to see;
And, naked, conscious souls, ingenuous go

To hide yourselves for shame! Your Fall’s worse woe—
Th’ inevitable “I”—inherit we:
Our child-souls quit their paradise to be
First in a fall’n estate that day they know

Themselves for entities, with passions, parts:
Alack, the difference! Ye who did dwell
In th’ light of God see from what height ye fell,
And shun the recreant Self that filch’d your hearts:

No gracious shame’s in us; complacent thought,
Approving or contemning, ’s Ego fraught!