Cupid Stung

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    Cupid once upon a bed
    Of roses laid his weary head;
    Luckless urchin, not to see
    Within the leaves a slumbering bee.
    The bee awak'd—with anger wild
    The bee awak'd, and stung the child.
    Loud and piteous are his cries;
    To Venus quick he runs, he flies;
   "Oh, Mother! I am wounded through—
    I die with pain—in sooth I do!
    Stung by some little angry thing,
    Some serpent on a tiny wing—
    A bee it was—for once, I know,
    I heard a rustic call it so."
    Thus he spoke, and she the while
    Heard him with a soothing smile;
    Then said, "My infant, if so much
    Thou feel the little wild bee's touch,
    How must the heart, ah, Cupid! be,
    The hapless heart that's stung by thee!"