Chapter IV

What wonder then if in the lonely night,
Sweet Psyche weeps to find her love is slighted;
Feels darkness fall upon her trembling light,
And throws to wind the vows her love has plighted!
And she hath risen from her loveless bed,
With all the stealth her grief supplies instead,
And steals to Cupid's fine unguarded room,
Where she must feast her heart on deeper gloom.
Here Cupid, airy souled, hath fall'n asleep,
Too filled of love such watch for long to keep,
And even now with her in blissful dreams,
He roams again, and all the future seems
As sweets of old. No little pains of doubt,
To mar recalling moments with their rout.
All through the halls, such joy of living blent
Her soul and his in single ravishment.
And Oh! they wander in the flow'ry vale,
All through the dewy morn and evening pale,
And each to drink the other's loveliness,
Despising richest nectar. Even the stress,
Of queenly anger now had bode its time,
And fresh Aurora speeding to this clime,
Hath Venus' royal word to grant his prayer,
That with the dawn to clasp his Psyche there,
In perfect love, with all the world their own.
Ah, promised day! his eager soul hath flown,
To meet the morning. On his lonely bed
Reclines his happy visionary head,
In such sweet dreams. An hour hath lightly flown
When o'er his senses steals a softened moan,
As when a soul all pent and warp'd in gloom,
Hath breathed soul deep, some sudden wild perfume,
That is of freedom. Awaked to such surprise,
He sees with heart aghast the famished eyes,
Of Psyche filling to their very brim
With his forbidden beauty, sees for him,
The golden future vanish, sees aghast
For now he knows his lovely dream hath passed;
That soulless doubt hath razed the golden dome
Of his high hopes to desert sandy loam.
The structured palace falls with all its art,
To grieve a valley with an aching heart.
From out a darkened corner of the ruin rises,
And laughs to view the dismal crisis,
That baneful hag. But Ah! what beauty fairer!
What luscious form arrayed in raiment rarer!
And she hath flown to vales of Thessaly,
Where ever more her mocking eyes shall see,
A myriad eyes upon her beauty glisten,
A myriad ears unto her rumor listen.
And Cupid flees in sudden wild despair.
To drown his soul within the bitter fountain,
Nor Venus now may crown his heart laid bare,
Nor any luscious goddess of the mountain.