Alone! O Chimera, you cannot do that . . . .! For I love you; I adore you with all my soul, and shall die of grief and tears, Chimera, if you fly away from me! I love you; I worship your golden eyes, your voice of bronze, your steaming breath, your panting flanks, your mane, to which I bound myself, your flaming wings, which carried me far, farther and farther . . . . to this place . . . .! O Chimera, lay down your smoking limbs in the shadow of the night; lay your noble head in my arms and my bosom, and together we will rest, and to-morrow fly away farther, united forever!”
“I cannot, O little Psyche. I too love you, sweet burden which lay between my wings—little butterfly with weak wings, that lent strength to my flight; but now . . . .”
“But now—O Chimera, but now . . . .?”
“But now I must go, continue my lonely journey to and fro, without knowing why. . . . Farewell, little Psyche, hope in life, hope in the morrow. . . .”
He spread his wings, his limbs quivered, he ascended into the air.
She wrung her arms, her hands. She sobbed, she sobbed. . . .
