Through a shady forest going,
Found we Cupid all alone,
And his cheeks, so smoothly glowing,
Like to golden apples shone.
He had not his quiver by him,
Nor his bow well-bent and strung;
But we soon espied them nigh him,
'Midst the leafy branches hung.
Chains of sleep his limbs encumbered,
While among the flowers he lay;
Smiling, even when he slumbered,
In his cruel, roguish way.
Swarms of tawny bees came flying
All about his waxen lip —
Often thus one sees them trying
Flowers that with honey drip.
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