No Eden, this was
A garden once, a good and perfect gift;
Its possible abundance stood in it
As it then stood. But now what it might be
Must be foreseen, darkly, through many lives–
Thousands of years to make it what it was,
Beginning now, in our few troubled days.
–Wendell Berry, A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997 (No. VIII)