Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Cupid Taught by the Graces
Cupid Taught by the Graces.
It is their summer haunt;—a giant oak
Stretches its sheltering arms above their heads,
And midst the twilight of depending boughs
They ply their eager task. Between them sits
A bright-haired child, whose softly glistening wings
Quiver with joy, as ever and anon
He, at their bidding, sweeps a chorded shell,
And draws its music forth. Wondering, he looks
For their approving smile, and quickly drinks
(Apt pupil!) from their lips instruction sweet—
Divine encouragement! And this is Love
Taught by the Graces how to point his darts
With milder mercy and discreeter aim;
To stir the bosom's lyre to harmony,
And waken strains of music from its chords
They never gave before!
Stretches its sheltering arms above their heads,
And midst the twilight of depending boughs
They ply their eager task. Between them sits
A bright-haired child, whose softly glistening wings
Quiver with joy, as ever and anon
He, at their bidding, sweeps a chorded shell,
And draws its music forth. Wondering, he looks
For their approving smile, and quickly drinks
(Apt pupil!) from their lips instruction sweet—
Divine encouragement! And this is Love
Taught by the Graces how to point his darts
With milder mercy and discreeter aim;
To stir the bosom's lyre to harmony,
And waken strains of music from its chords
They never gave before!