SONNET by REMY BELLEAU

WHOE'ER the man may be who first, for flight,
Gave wings to Cupid, and his portrait drew;
His brush to give the semblance only knew
Of butterflies and swallows swift, and light.

But had he known of Love's fierce flame the spite,
His dreadful bow, the darts his victims rue,
His rapid course, he there had brought to view
A giant god of superhuman might.

Ah! prithee, painters, other colours lay,
His cruel empire truly to portray,
His dart's unerring point so swift and keen.

You make him all too soft; but could he sink
As heavy in your breast as mine, I think
Your portrait altogether changed has been.

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