Ah, Cupid! Cupid! let alone That bud above the rest: The Graces wear it in their zone, Thy mother on her breast. Does it not grieve thee to destroy So beautiful a flower? If thou must do it, cruel boy, Far distant be the hour! If the sweet bloom (so tinged with fire From thy own torch) must die, Let it, O generous Love! expire Beneath a lover's sigh. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EXPLICATION OF AN IMAGINARY TEXT by JAMES GALVIN THE MAN TO BE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOHN CABANIS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS WITH WHOM IS NO VARIABLENESS, NEITHER SHADOW OF TURNING' by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH EVENING by GEORGE WASHINGTON DOANE |