Sonnets and Fugitive Pieces by Charles Tennyson |
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| IV. |
| VII. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XV. |
| XVIII. |
| XXII. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVII. |
Ερως ποτ' εν ροδοισι.
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 | Sonnets and Fugitive Pieces |  |
74
Ερως ποτ' εν ροδοισι.
ANACR.—
A bee, within a rose-bud lying,'Scap'd the Infant Love's espying;
With finger stung and sobbing cry
Quick to fair Venus did he fly,
“Mother,” he said, “I faint, I die!”
This wound, a little winged snake,
Which rustics call a bee, did make.
But she answered, “If the sting
“Of bees be such a painful thing,
“What think'st thou of their bitter smart,
“The hapless Victims of thy dart?”
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