Cupid Drowned

T'other day as I was twining

Roses, for a crown to dine in,

What, of all things, 'mid the heap,

Should I light on, fast asleep,

But the little desperate elf,

The tiny traitor, Love, himself!

By the wings I picked him up

Like a bee, and in a cup

Of my wine I plunged and sank him,

Then what d'ye think I did?—I drank him.

Faith, I thought him dead. Not he!

There he lives with tenfold glee;

And now this moment with his wings

I feel him tickling my heart-strings.

Leigh Hunt.