Don Juan 01-018
Canto the First

XVIII

Perfect she was, but as perfection is
     Insipid in this naughty world of ours,
Where our first parents never learn'd to kiss
     Till they were exiled from their earlier bowers,
Where all was peace, and innocence, and bliss
     (I wonder how they got through the twelve hours),
Don Jose, like a lineal son of Eve,
Went plucking various fruit without her leave.

George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron (1788-1824) ByronLong