They, looking back, all th’eastern side beheld
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,
Wav’d over by that flaming brand, the gate
With dreadful faces throng’d and fiery arms:
Some natural tears they dropp’d, but wip’d them soon.
The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.
They, hand in hand, with wand’ring steps and slow
Through Eden took their solitary way.
-John Milton, Paradise Lost (Book XII, 641-649)