But in what secret chamber their foul task These soul-tormentors plied, or what their skill, Pity of tender nature may not ask, Nor poet stain his rhyme with such an ill. But they at last themselves turn'd from their rack, Weary of cruelty, and led her back, Saying that further torture were to kill. 26 Then when the goddess saw her, more she mockt 'Art thou the woman of the earth,' she said, 'That hast in sorceries mine Eros lockt, And stood thyself for worship in my stead? Looking that I should pity thee, or care For what illicit offspring thou may'st bear; Or let thee to that god my son be wed? 27 'I know thy trick; and thou art one of them Who steal love's favour in the gentle way, Wearing submission for a diadem, Patience and suffering for thy rich array: Thou wilt be modest, kind, implicit, so To rest thy wily spirit out of show That it may leap the livelier into play: 28 'Devout at doing nothing, if so be The grace become thee well; but active yet Above all others be there none to see Thy business, and thine eager face asweat. Lo! I will prove thy talent: thou may'st live, And all that thou desirest will I give, If thou perform the task which I shall set.' 29 She took her then aside, and bade her heed A heap of grains piled high upon the floor, Millet and mustard, hemp and poppy seed, And fern-bloom's undistinguishable spore, All kinds of pulse, of grasses, and of spice, Clover and linseed, rape, and corn, and rice, Dodder, and sesame, and many more. 30 'Sort me these seeds' she said; 'it now is night, I will return at morning; if I find That thou hast separated all aright, Each grain from other grain after its kind, And set them in unmingl'd heaps apart, Then shall thy wish be granted to thine heart. Whereat she turn'd, and closed the door behind. FOURTH QUARTER WINTER PSYCHE'S TRIALS AND RECEPTION INTO HEAVEN DECEMBER 1 A single lamp there stood beside the heap, And shed thereon its mocking golden light; Such as might tempt the weary eye to sleep Rather than prick the nerve of taskèd sight. Yet Psyche, not to fail for lack of zeal, With good will sat her down to her ordeal, Sorting the larger seeds as best she might. 2 When lo! upon the wall, a shadow past Of doubtful shape, across the chamber dim Moving with speed: and seeing nought that cast The shade, she bent her down the flame to trim; And there the beast itself, a little ant, Climb'd up in compass of the lustre scant, Upon the bowl of oil ran round the rim. 3