Only to meet it, till we see
Our fate worked out in lives to be.
O, from my lesser self to spread
My golden wings above your head,
Through love of love and you discard
The sting, the rings of green, the shard.
Oh, to be Psyche, passion tried
Through flesh, desire, purified!
Love is my lode-star, music yours—
Souls must go where the lode-star lures.