Quod ergo Deus conjúnxit, homo non séparet.
Cupid and Psyche
Your smile is a song these wayward lips
will sing, my Psyche, sweet as summer rain,
a physic fit to cure my every pain
and radiance that, ringing this eclipse,
reminds me of the night you held a glim
and gazed on Cupid's countenance, asleep,
a trespass, yet a covenant to keep,
for, in the incandescence of the dim
and frail flame, you found another I,
as similar as if the two were one,
and pledged yourself, before you were begun,
to bear eternity; and I reply
that if another's lover be as true,
she would be yet a feeble shade of you.