For neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone.

His form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appear'd Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess Of glory obscur'd.

Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice morn, on th' Indian steep From her cabin'd loop-hole peep.

And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens take his pleasure.

Fairy elves, Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress.

The Tree of Knowledge grew fast by, Knowledge of Good bought dear by knowing ill.

So shall the world go on, To good malignant, to bad men benign, Under her own weight groaning.