Love by Thomas Nelson Page — Read

(AFTER ANACREON)

Astray within a garden bright / I found a tiny winged sprite:

He scarce was bigger than a sparrow / And bore a little bow and arrow.

I lifted him up in my arm, / Without a thought of guile or harm;

But merely as it were in play, / With threats to carry him away.

The sport he took in such ill part, / He stuck an arrow in my heart.

And ever since, I have such pain, -- / I cannot draw it out again.

And yet, the strangest part is this: / I love the pain as though 't were bliss.