Certain sheep feed there, whose fleeces shine with gold.
Fetch me straightway a lock of that precious stuff, having gotten it as thou mayst." And Psyche went forth willingly, not to obey the command of Venus, but even to seek a rest from her labour in the depths of the river.

But from the river, the green reed, lowly mother of music, spake to her: "O Psyche! pollute not these waters by self-destruction, nor approach that terrible flock; for, as the heat groweth, they wax fierce.

Lie down under yon plane-tree, till the [85] quiet of the river's breath have soothed them.

Thereafter thou mayst shake down the fleecy gold from the trees of the grove, for it holdeth by the leaves." And Psyche, instructed thus by the simple reed, in the humanity of its heart, filled her bosom with the soft golden stuff, and returned to Venus.

But the goddess smiled bitterly, and said to her, "Well know I who was the author of this thing also.