Classic Poem

XI

And ever since that fatal night,
Pale Virtue treads her path beside;
Each step an effort, but the light
Of hope before them as a guide.
Through scenes in distance that appeared
Bright homes of rest, through dens of strife,
Through mirage vanishing when neared,
She walks the arid wastes of life.

XII

But still, while gathering flowers that breathed
Their fragrance in her soul, she felt
As round her head the roses wreathed,
The chill of death within them dwelt;
And as earth's fairest forms she blest,
She felt while gazing that decay,
The canker, grew within each breast,
Until it wore its life away.

XIII

And still she seeks the Shadow fled,
The perfect love, the peace supreme;
The halo that was never shed,
Save in the vision and the dream!
The immortal soul is a desire,
A yearning for the truth unfound;
And Psyche, with ethereal fire,
Still walks the earth, with glory crowned;

XIV

And Hope and Faith beside her tread;
And when she falters in the race,
They point, where brighten o'er her head,
Rays from her heavenly dwelling-place;
The Soul towards love undying tends,
And Love himself the fiat gave,
" The pilgrimage of Psyche ends
Beyond the portals of the grave!"