At Tityus’ rent side, Sated and pacified. At length the shadowy king, His sorrows pitying, “He hath prevailèd!” cried; “We give him back his bride! To him she shall belong, As guerdon of his song. One sole condition yet Upon the boon is set: Let him not turn his eyes To view his hard-won prize, Till they securely pass The gates of Hell.” Alas! What law can lovers move? A higher law is love! For Orpheus⁠—woe is me!⁠— On his Eurydice⁠— Day’s threshold all but won⁠— Looked, lost, and was undone! Ye who the light pursue, This story is for you, Who seek to find a way Unto the clearer day.