LOVE AND DREAM
Cupid, wandering one May-day,
Met with loitering Death by chance;
No aged carl as many say,
But young as he, as fair and gay,
As fond of boyish sport or dance.
“Come, wrestle,” and, so saying, Love,
Loos’ning the quiver at his breast,
Hung it upon the bough above.
“These arrows,” quoth he, “when they rove,
Make youth a slave at my behest.”
Among the tender-blooming leaves
Death made his quiver sure and fast,
“My arrows bring rest when age grieves,”
And down unwary Love he heaves;
So frolicked they till Discord passed.
She, wicked, hating merry play,
Scattered their arrows on the green,
And thus confused, some got astray
In either quiver. Since that day
Youth dies and old age dotes, I ween.
Anna Vernon Dorsey.