The pinions of the winged god, yet fresh with the dew, are spotless upon his shoulders, the delicate plumage wavering over them as they lie at rest.

Smooth he was, and, touched with light, worthy of Venus his mother.

At the foot of the couch lay his bow and arrows, the instruments of his power, propitious to men.
And Psyche, gazing hungrily thereon, draws an arrow from the quiver, and trying the point upon her thumb, tremulous still, drave in the barb, so that a drop of blood came forth.

Thus fell she, by her own act, and unaware, into the love of Love.

Falling upon the bridegroom, with indrawn breath, in a hurry of kisses from eager and open lips, she shuddered as she thought how brief that sleep might be.