CUPID, with thy bow and arrow, Thou pierced my heart with Love's true sorrow, And spoiled my tender hopes divine; Had'st thou ne'er touched this heart of mine, Not lured it on with thy sweet lure, But left me still as cold and pure, As snow on yonder mountain crest, No anguish would now pain my breast.
Cupid, with thy bow and arrow, Oh! pierce with Love's own pining sorrow Deep down into that other heart, And let it know the cruel smart I've felt, and make it feel quite true, The truth of Life's despairing hue, The pangs of unrequited love, Hopeless to reach as stars above.
