IF love his arrows shoot so fast, Soon his feathered stock will waste, But I mistake in thinking so, Lovers' arrows in his quiver grow: That he wants no artillery, That appears too true in me. Two shafts feed upon my breast, O make't a quiver for the rest, Kill me with love thou armed son Of Citherea, or let one, One sharp golden arrow fly To wound her heart for whom I die. Cupid, if thou be'st a child, Be a good boy, be more mild. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHAT DOES A WOMAN WANT? by KAREN SWENSON THE SMILING MOUTH by CHARLES D'ORLEANS WITH A COPY OF HERRICK by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE TO MRS. THRALE [ON HER COMPLETING HER THIRTY-FIFTH YEAR] by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) THIRTEEN WAYS OF LOOKING AT A BLACKBIRD by WALLACE STEVENS ARMSTRONG'S GOOD NIGHT by THOMAS ARMSTRONG |