With awe that fearfully her doom awaits
Still at the portal Psyche timid lies,
When lo! advancing from the hallowed gates
Trembling she views with reverential eyes
An aged priest. A myrtle bough supplies
A wand, and roses bind his snowy brows:
Bear hence thy feet profane (he sternly cries)
Thy longer stay the goddess disallows,
Fly, nor her fiercer wrath too daringly arouse! "