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From Book XI of John Milton's "Paradise Lost," in which Eve laments that the flowers she and Adam once tended won't grow where they're going next.

lyrics

Oh unexpected stroke, worse than death,
must I thus leave thee Paradise?
These happy walks and shades,
the day that must be mortal to us both.

Oh flowers,
that never will in other climate grow.

Oh flowers,
which I bred with tender hand and gave ye names.

Thee lastly bower, by me adorned
with what to sight or smell was sweet;
from thee how shall I part,
and wander down into a lower world?

Oh flowers,
that never will in other climate grow.

Oh flowers,
which I bred with tender hand and gave ye names.

Who now shall rear ye to the sun,
rank your tribes and water from the fount?
How shall we breath in other air
less pure accustomed to immortal fruits?

Oh flowers,
that never will in other climate grow.

Oh flowers,
which I bred with tender hand and gave ye names.

credits

from John Milton's Paradise Lost (Demos), released June 27, 2022

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Jonathan Salem Baskin Chicago, Illinois

i'm a writer, musician, and science junkie.

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