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 If Psyche were alone she longed for Eros, and when she saw him again she spread out her arms, and they loved each other. If Psyche were alone, she wandered about in the rosy spring morning; the flowers bowed down to her; the brook flowed cool over her feet; she played with the winged cherubs, who flew about her head like butterflies; she sat down in the moss full of violets; she bade the children take off her crown, loosen the plaits of her long hair, untie the knots of the drapery round her loins, and she lay down on the bank of the brook; her hand played with the clear cold water, and, naked in the shade of flowery shrubs, she fell asleep and the cupids round her. Then the step of the king awoke her; the children awoke; they dressed her, and she went to meet her husband, and received him with open arms. It was the sweet delight of the Present.

One day she was sleeping naked under the shrubs, the boys round about her; on the moss lay her crown and her veil, and the brooklet flowed on, gently murmuring. The day was very still, heavy with warmth. A storm was brewing, but the sky was still blue. In the far-off distance, where the horizon was like