Love Despoiled
As lone I sat one summer’s day,With mien dejected, Love came by;His face distraught, his locks astray,So slow his gait, so sad his eye,I hailed him with a pitying cry:
“Pray, Love, what has disturbed thee so?”Said I, amazed. “Thou seem’st bereft;And see thy quiver hanging low,—What, not a single arrow left?Pray, who is guilty of this theft?”
Poor Love looked in my face and cried:“No thief were ever yet so boldTo rob my quiver at my side.But Time, who rules, gave ear to Gold,And all my goodly shafts are sold.”