Classic Poem

Yes, yes, I yield, O god of love!
I own thy proud imperious rule.
In vain all combats 'gainst thee prove,
Who strives with thee is but a fool.
Eros with many a subtle art
Strove long to win my wayward heart;
Inflamed with mad rebellious pride
His sovereign power I denied.

At once he seized his little bow
And golden quiver arrow-filled,
Saying, " Let us to battle go! "
I scorned without a blow to yield.
So helm and corslet, spear and shield
I took, and sought the martial field,
Like famed Achilles did I move
In panoply and fought with Love.

With many a shaft he pierced me through
Till all his darts at last were gone.
I fled; straightway he angry grew,
And quickly threw himself upon
Me, even as a swift-winged dart
He shot himself into my heart;
Unnerved, my courage ebbed away,
And conquered at his feet I lay.

What use is armour, shield or spear
'Gainst Love; defence to folly turns;
No victory can I win, 'tis clear,
While war within me fiercely burns.