The best in me has brought the most happiness

and, in seemingly equal measure, sorrow.

When the lesson is learned at last

how brief the time left lasts;

how I've portrayed the images of passion,

bleak pictures of the incompatibility of man and woman.

Nimue pursuing and tantalising Merlin.

The clasping, desperate embrace of Phyllis to Demophon.

The mermaid dragging her besotted lover to unknown depths.

Pygmalion kneeling at the feet of his creation.

Did I succumb to beautiful romantic dreams of things which never were,

nor could ever be?

Was I a pre-determined victim of insistent sexual yearnings,

of deep psychological need?

Was the light, brighter than that which had ever shone

in a realm not another could define, simply my delusion?

The remaining years will forever be haunted,

nightly the Spectre visits but refuses to look me in the eye.

Cupid and Psyche.