'Twas a very small garden; The paths were of stone, Scattered with leaves, With moss overgrown; And a little Old Cupid Stood under a tree, With a small broken bow He stood aiming at me. The dog-rose in briars Hung over the weeds, The air was aflock With the floating of seeds; And a little old Cupid Stood under a tree, With a small broken bow He stood aiming at me. The dovecote was tumbling, The fountain dry, A wind in the orchard Went whispering by; And a little old Cupid Stood under a tree, With a small broken bow He stood aiming at me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM by RICHARD ALDINGTON THE CENTER OF GRAVITY by DAVID IGNATOW ON THE DEATH OF MR. CRASHAW by ABRAHAM COWLEY FATHER WILLIAM [QUESTIONED], FR. ALICE IN WONDERLAND by CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON IN HOSPITAL: 4. BEFORE by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY THE PHILOSOPHER by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY GARDEN DAYS: 7. THE GARDENER by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |