University of Virginia Library

CUPID TEARING A ROSE-BUD.

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.