Poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt

Cupid Drowned

T'other day as I was twining
Roses, for a crown to dine in,
What, of all things, 'mid the heap,
Should I light on, fast asleep,
But the little desperate elf,
The tiny traitor, Love, himself!
By the wings I picked him up
Like a bee, and in a cup
Of my wine I plunged and sank him,
Then 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.

1. Bodryddan
2. A Thought or Two on Reading Pomfret's
3. Ariadne Waking
4. Sudden Fine Weather
5. Bellman's Verses for 1814

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