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 awak'd—with anger wild

The bee awak'd, 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!"