The poem
Adam, a brown old vulture in the rain, Shivered below his wind-whipped olive-trees; Huddling sharp chin on scarred and scraggy knees, He moaned and mumbled to his darkening brain; 'He was the grandest of them all was Cain! 'A lion laired in the hills, that none could tire: 'Swift as a stag: a stallion of the plain, 'Hungry and fierce with deeds of huge desire.'
Grimly he thought of Abel, soft and fair A lover with disaster in his face, And scarlet blossom twisted in bright hair. 'Afraid to fight; was murder more disgrace?' 'God always hated Cain' He bowed his head The gaunt wild man whose lovely sons were dead.