154 
POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
bushes, their sharp-pointed spears half hidden by the 
deep gold of the blossoms with which they were over¬ 
hung. As a bird bears the feathered seed in its beak, 
even so lightly did Love fly along, enclosing the beauti¬ 
ful form of Psyche in his embrace, while her white 
arm was twined, as if for security, around his neck. 
A score times was she about to raise her eyes and look 
into Iris face, when she recalled the doom of death 
which she knew she must endure ; and as she remem¬ 
bered the fiat of the Thunderer, she clung more close¬ 
ly to Love, and embraced more firmly the divinity that 
clasped her in his arms. Once only did she catch a 
glimpse of his countenance as they passed over a clear 
stream, and although it was but a momentary glance, 
she saw in it a beauty which belonged not to earth, 
and she knew that it was an immortal who loved 
her.' 
For many a day did Love and Psyche dwell togeth¬ 
er in that beautiful cavern, which was roofed with sil¬ 
ver spars, and paved with the choicest flowers; while 
all around were piled twisted and crimson shells, and 
i 
huge pearls, just as they had grown ; and diamonds 
that, in Love’s absence, threw around a light brighter 
than day. Still Psyche was unhappy, for she had not 
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