Another Imitation of Anacreon
Prone, on my couch I calmly slept
Against my wont. A little child
Awoke me as he gently crept
And beat my door. A tempest wild
Was raging-dark and cold the night.
“Have pity on my naked plight,”
He begged, “and ope thy door.”—“Thy name?”
I asked admitting him.—“The same
“Anon I’ll tell, but first must dry
“My weary limbs, then let me try
“My mois’ened bow.”—Despite my fear
The hearth I lit, then drew me near
My guest, and chafed his fingers cold.
“Why fear?” I thought. “Let me be bold
“No Polyphemus he; what harm
“In such a child?—Then I’ll be calm!”
The playful boy drew out a dart,
Shook his fair locks, and to my heart
His shaft he launch’d.—“Love is my name,”
He thankless cried, “I hither came
“To tame thee. In thine ardent pain
“Of Cupid think and young Climene.”—
“Ah! now I know thee, little scamp,
“Ungrateful, cruel boy! Decamp!”
Cupid a saucy caper cut,
Skipped through the door, and as it shut,
“My bow,” he taunting cried, “is sound,
“Thy heart, poor comrade, feels the wound.”