Chapter 35 EROS AND PSYCHE.

'Love, I heard tell of thee so oft!

Yea, thrice my face and bosom flush'd with heat

Of sudden wings,

Through delicatest ether feathering soft

Their solitary beat.

Long did I muse what service or what charms

Might lure thee, blissful Bird, into mine arms;

And nets I made,

But not of the fit strings.

At last, of endless fai