Classic Poem

Once Eros in a fragrant bower
Midst roses chanced to linger;
And as he plucked his favourite flower
A wild bee stung his finger.
He screamed with pain, and stamped his feet
With rage, and quickly flying
To Venus said, " O mother sweet,
I perish, I am dying!
A little winged serpent me
With its sharp lance has wounded,
'Twas what the peasants call a bee —
I really shall be soon dead. "
Queen Venus fondly soothed his pain,
And bade him cease his crying;
" Thou soon, dear, wilt be well again, "
She said, with smiles him eyeing.
And added, " If such pain the bee
Inflicts, sly little duffer,
Think of the many hearts by thee
Stung, and how much they suffer. "