Origin of a Pen

Love begg'd and pray'd old Time to stay,
Whilst he and Psyche toy'd together;
Love held his wings, Time tore away,
But, in the scuffle, dropp'd a feather!

Love seiz'd the prize, and with his dart,
Adroitly work'd to trim and shape it; —
" O Psyche! tho' 'tis pain to part,
This charm shall make us half escape it!

" Time need not fear to fly too slow,
When he this useful loss discovers;
A pen's the only plume I know,
That wings his pace for absent lovers! "
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