Cupid Swallowed

Leigh Hunt (1784–1859)

Paraphrase from the Greek

T’ OTHER day, as I was twining

Roses for a crown to dine in,

What, of all things, midst the heap,

Should I light on, fast asleep,

But the little desperate elf,

The tiny traitor,—Love himself!

By the wings I pinched him up

Like a bee, and in a cup

Of my wine I plunged and sank him;

And what d’ ye think I did?—I drank him!

Faith, I thought him dead. Not he!

There he lives with tenfold glee;

And now this moment, with his wings

I feel him tickling my heart-strings.