WHOE'ER the man may be who first, for flight, Gave wings to Cupid, and his portrait drew; His brush to give the semblance only knew Of butterflies and swallows swift, and light. But had he known of Love's fierce flame the spite, His dreadful bow, the darts his victims rue, His rapid course, he there had brought to view A giant god of superhuman might. Ah! prithee, painters, other colours lay, His cruel empire truly to portray, His dart's unerring point so swift and keen. You make him all too soft; but could he sink As heavy in your breast as mine, I think Your portrait altogether changed has been. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I AM BORNE ONWARD by SARA TEASDALE THE VOLUNTEER by HERBERT HENRY ASQUITH GRANDMOTHER'S STORY OF BUNKER HILL BATTLE by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES DREAMS OLD AND NASCENT: NASCENT by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE A DECANTER OF MADEIRA, AGED 86, TO GEORGE BANCROFT, AGED 86 by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL THE MAGPIES IN PICARDY by T. P. CAMERON WILSON |