A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang - Umnet

sleeping eyes a violet shadow lay. Once had her mouth been as the bow
of Eros, painted in carmine. Now either end of the bow was turned
downwards, and its colour was that of a faded rose-leaf.
And as Eros looked at her that he loved, pity stirred his heart, as the
wind sweeps through the sighing, grey leaves of the willow, or sings
through the bowing reeds.
"My Belovèd!" he said, and he knew that Psyche was indeed his
beloved. It was her fair soul that he loved, nor did it matter to him
whether her body was like a rose in June or as a wind-scourged tree in
December. And as his lips met hers, Psyche awoke, and heard his soft
whisper:
"Dear, unclose thine eyes. Thou mayst look on me now. I go no more,
But am thine own forever."
Lewis Morris.
Then did there spring from the fair white shoulders of Psyche, wings of
silver and of gold, and, hand in hand with Eros, she winged her way to
Olympus.
And there all the deathless gods were assembled, and Aphrodite no
longer looked upon her who had once been her slave with darkened
brows, but smiled upon her as the sun smiles upon a new-born flower.
And when into the hand of Psyche there was placed a cup of gold, the
voice of the great Father and King of Olympus rang out loud and clear:
"Drink now, O beautiful, and have no fear! For with this draught shalt
thou be born again, And live for ever free from care and pain."
William Morris.
In this wise did Psyche, a human soul, attain by bitter suffering to the
perfect happiness of purified love.
And still do we watch the butterfly, which is her emblem, bursting from