AH, Eros doth not always smite With cruel, shining dart, Whose bitter point with sudden might Rends the unhappy heart - Not thus forever purple-stained, And sore with steely touch, Else were its living fountain drained Too oft and overmuch. O'er it sometimes the boy will deign Sweep the shaft's feathered end ; And friendship rises without pain Where the white plumes descend. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOY (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE POET SPEAKS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A SECOND REVIEW OF THE GRAND ARMY [MAY 24, 1865] by FRANCIS BRET HARTE MELHILL FEAST by WILLIAM BARNES IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: CONDEMNED by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |