Milton made Eve his blonde, but she is dark
And dark is Eden where her tree ascends;
And yet she shines; no shy deer in God’s park,
She’s formidable. The fruit between her hands
Is moon to her deliberate earth; the cold
Smooth yellow rind of moon or fruit invites
Tongue, or on branch alight allures handhold.
Temptress, to darken her delights
Offers her apple with one withering leaf,
Ripeness and death in hand; imparts that knowledge,
Yet firm and lovingly lets in the thief
Of innocence: moon-sodden foliage
Parted, lays her big limbs unshadowed bare
To the white clamberer’s prehensile stare.
— Allen Curnow