(M ETAMORPH ., L IB. IV.)

While Psyche wept upon the rock forsaken,
Alone, despairing, dreading, — gradually
By Zephyrus she was enwrapt and taken
Still trembling, — like the lilies planted high, —
Through all her fair white limbs. Her vesture spread,
Her very bosom eddying with surprise, —
He drew her slowly from the mountain-head,
And bore her down the valleys with wet eyes,
And laid her in the lap of a green dell
As soft with grass and flowers as any nest,
With trees beside her, and a limpid well:
Yet Love was not far off from all that Rest.