Psyche in Tears XXVII.

Psyche sits, and lovelier seems;

Ah! she of her Lover dreams!

Still his Kiss she softly feels;

Still his Smile in Fancy gleams.

But in Light she fain would see

Love's own Self, nor wrong it deems.

Trembling her white Hand hath ta'en

Lamp to light, as Fancy schemes.

There by flickering Flame she scans

Beauty which she Heaven esteems.

But the fluttering Oil did shake,

Shamed to find eclipsed its Beams.

Fell one hot Drop on Love's Hand:

Oh! the Lover waken'd screams!

Love light-pinion'd flies away;

Psyche's Wings, Tears drench in Streams.