Cupid Stung.
“Cupid once upon a bed
Of roses laid his weary head;
Luckless urchin, not to see
Within the leaves a slumbering bee.
The bee awaked—with anger wild
The bee awaked, and stung the child
Loud and piteous are his cries;
To Venus quick he runs, he flies;
‘Oh, mother—I am wounded through—
I die with pain—in sooth I do!
Stung by some little angry thing,
Some serpent on a tiny wing—
A bee it was—for once I know,
I heard a rustic call it so.’
Thus he spoke, and she the while
Heard him with a soothing smile;
Then said, ‘My infant, if so much
Thou feel the little wild-bee’s touch,
How must the heart, ah, Cupid, be,
The hapless heart that’s stung by thee!’”
—Moore. (Anacreon.)
