And slowly he ascended. . . .
Psyche was afraid; she let go her arms; she became dizzy, fell against the pinnacle, and bruised one of her wings. That pained her . . . . but she heeded it not; the horse was already high in the air, and she followed his track with her eyes. . . .
“He is gone,” thought she. “Will he come again? Or have I seen him for the first and last time?”
“As a dream he came from far-off regions, and to still farther regions he has gone. . . . Oh, how dull the world seems! How dead is the horizon! And how dizzy I feel. . . . My wing pains me. . . .”
With her hand she smoothed the wrinkle out of her wing; she stroked it till it was smooth again, and tears ran down her cheeks.
“Horrid wings! They cannot fly, they cannot follow the strong Chimera! I’m in such trouble, such trouble!! But . . . . no. . . . Is that trouble? Is that happiness? I know not. . . . I am very happy . . . .! I am so sorrowful. . . . How beautiful he was! how strong, how sleek, how splendid, how quick, how wise, how noble, how broad
