Clad in rich robes adorned with jewels rare; Or little hidden by some woven mist, That, hanging round them, here a bosom kissed And there a knee, or driven by the wind About some lily's bowing stem was twined. But when a little Psyche's eyes grew clear, A sight they saw that brought back all her fear A hundred-fold, though neither heaven nor earth To such a fair sight elsewhere could give birth; Because apart, upon a golden throne Of marvellous work, a woman sat alone, Watching the dancers with a smiling face, Whose beauty sole had lighted up the place. A crown there was upon her glorious head, A garland round about her girdlestead, Where matchless wonders of the hidden sea Were brought together and set wonderfully; Naked she was of all else, but her hair About her body rippled here and there, And lay in heaps upon the golden seat, And even touched the gold cloth where her feet Lay amid roses--ah, how kind she seemed! What depths of love from out her grey eyes beamed! Well might the birds leave singing on the trees To watch in peace that crown of goddesses, Yet well might Psyche sicken at the sight, And feel her feet wax heavy, her head light; For now at last her evil day was come, Since she had wandered to the very home Of her most bitter cruel enemy. Half-dead, yet must she turn about to flee, But as her eyes back o'er her shoulder gazed, And with weak hands her clinging gown she raised, And from her lips unwitting came a moan, She felt strong arms about her body thrown, And, blind with fear, was haled along till she Saw floating by her faint eyes dizzily That vision of the pearls and roses fresh, The golden carpet and the rosy flesh. Then, as in vain she strove to make some sound, A sweet voice seemed to pierce the air around With bitter words; her doom rang in her ears, She felt the misery that lacketh tears. "Come hither, damsels, and the pearl behold That hath no price? See now the thrice-tried gold, That all men worshipped, that a god would have To be his bride! how like a wretched slave She cowers down, and lacketh even voice To plead her cause! Come, damsels, and rejoice, That now once more the waiting world will move, Since she is found, the well-loved soul of love! "And thou poor wretch, what god hath led thee here? Art thou so lost in this abyss of fear, Thou canst not weep thy misery and shame? Canst thou not even speak thy shameful name?"