Then Psyche, trembling at the words she spake, Durst answer nought, nor for that counsel's sake Could other offerings leave except her tears, As now, tormented by the new-born fears The words divine had raised in her, she passed The brazen threshold once again, and cast A dreary hopeless look across the plain, Whose golden beauty now seemed nought and vain Unto her aching heart; then down the hill She went, and crossed the shallows of the rill, And wearily she went upon her way, Nor any homestead passed upon that day, Nor any hamlet, and at night lay down Within a wood, far off from any town. There, waking at the dawn, did she behold, Through the green leaves, a glimmer as of gold, And, passing on, amidst an oak-grove found A pillared temple gold-adorned and round, Whose walls were hung with rich and precious things, Worthy to be the ransom of great kings; And in the midst of gold and ivory An image of Queen Juno did she see; Then her heart swelled within her, and she thought, "Surely the gods hereto my steps have brought, And they will yet be merciful and give Some little joy to me, that I may live Till my Love finds me." Then upon her knees She fell, and prayed, "O Crown of goddesses, I pray thee, give me shelter in this place, Nor turn away from me thy much-loved face, If ever I gave golden gifts to thee In happier times when my right hand was free." Then from the inmost shrine there came a voice That said, "It is so, well mayst thou rejoice That of thy gifts I yet have memory, Wherefore mayst thou depart forewarned and free; Since she that won the golden apple lives, And to her servants mighty gifts now gives To find thee out, in whatso land thou art, For thine undoing; loiter not, depart! For what immortal yet shall shelter thee From her that rose from out the unquiet sea?" Then Psyche moaned out in her grief and fear, "Alas! and is there shelter anywhere Upon the green flame-hiding earth?" said she, "Or yet beneath it is there peace for me? O Love, since in thine arms I cannot rest, Or lay my weary head upon thy breast, Have pity yet upon thy love forlorn, Make me as though I never had been born!"