Classic Poem

In der Hand die kleine Lampe

With a small lamp in her fingers
And a great glow in her breast,
Psyche creeps into the chamber
Where the Sleeper is at rest.

She grows frightened and she blushes
As she sees his beauty bare —
While the god of love awakens,
And his pinions beat the air . . .

Eighteen hundred years of penance!
She, poor soul, still fasts with awe;
Almost dead, because she came where
Love lay naked — and she saw!