Cupid

Why was Cupid a boy,
    And why a boy was he?
He should have been a girl,
    For aught that I can see.

For he shoots with his bow,
    And the girl shoots with her eye;
And they both are merry and glad,
    And laugh when we do cry.

Then to make Cupid a boy
    Was surely a woman's plan,
For a boy never learns so much
    Till he has become a man.

And then he's so pierced with cares,
    And wounded with arrowy smarts,
That the whole business of his life
    Is to pick out the heads of the darts.

        William Blake.

William Blake

William Blake was an English poet, painter, and printmaker, who is considered one of the seminal figures in the history of poetry and visual arts of the Romantic Age. Born in London, Blake was largely unrecognized during his lifetime but is now renowned for his expressive and mystical works that blend poetic and visual art. His notable works include 'Songs of Innocence and Experience' and 'The Marriage of Heaven and Hell'. His unique creative vision and philosophical outlook have influenced numerous artists and thinkers since his death.

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English

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Why Was Cupid A Boy

Why was Cupid a boy,
And why a boy was he?
He should have been a girl,
For aught that I can see.

For he shoots with his bow,
And the girl shoots with her eye,
And they both are merry and glad,
And laugh when we do cry.

And to make Cupid a boy
Was the Cupid girl's mocking plan;
For a boy can't interpret the thing
Till he is become a man.

And then he's so pierc'd with cares,
And wounded with arrowy smarts,
That the whole business of his life
Is to pick out the heads of the darts.

'Twas the Greeks' love of war
Turn'd Love into a boy,
And woman into a statue of stone
And away fled every joy.

William Blake

Cupid

Beauties, have ye seen this toy,
Called love, a little boy
Almost naked, wanton, blind,
Cruel now, and then as kind?
If he be amongst ye, say!
He is Venus' runaway.

He hath of marks about him plenty;
Ye shall know him among twenty;
All his body is a fire,
And his breath a flame entire,
That, being shot like lightning in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.

He doth bear a golden bow,
And a quiver, hanging low,
Full of arrows, that outbrave
Dian's shafts, where, if he have
Any head more sharp than other,
With that first he strikes his mother.

Trust him not: his words, though sweet,
Seldom with his heart do meet;
All his practice is deceit,
Every gift is but a bait;
Not a kiss but poison bears,
And most treason...

Ben Jonson

Cupid Turned Stroller. - From Anacreon

At dead of night, when stars appear,
And strong Bootes turns the Bear,
When mortals sleep their cares away,
Fatigued with labours of the day,
Cupid was knocking at my gate;
Who's there, says I? who knocks so late,
Disturbs my dreams, and breaks my rest?
O fear not me, a harmless guest,
He said; but open, open pray;
A foolish child, I've lost my way,
And wander here this moonlight night,
All wet and cold, and wanting light.
With due regard his voice I heard,
Then rose, a ready lamp prepared,
And saw a naked boy below,
With wings, a quiver, and a bow:
In haste I ran, unlock'd my gate,
Secure and thoughtless of my fate;
I set the child an easy chair
Against the fire, and dried his hair;
Brought friendly cups of cheerful wine,
And warm'd h...

Matthew Prior

Cupid, Hymen, And Plutus.

        As Cupid, with his band of sprites,
        In Paphian grove set things to rights,
        And trimmed his bow and tipped his arrows,
        And taught, to play with Lesbia, sparrows,
        Thus Hymen said: "Your blindness makes,
        O Cupid, wonderful mistakes!
        You send me such ill-coupled folks:
        It grieves me, now, to give them yokes.
        An old chap, with his troubles laden,
        You bind to a light-hearted maiden;
        Or join incongruous minds together,
        To squabble for a pin or feather
        Until they sue for a divorce;
        To which the wife assents - of course."

        "It is your fault, and none of mine,"
        Cupid replied. "I hearts combine:
        You trade in settlements and deeds,

John Gay

Cupid Mistaken

As after noon, one summer's day,
Venus stood bathing in a river;
Cupid a-shooting went that way,
New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver.

With skill he chose his sharpest dart:
With all his might his bow he drew:
Swift to his beauteous parent's heart
The too well-guided arrow flew.

I faint! I die! the Goddess cry'd:
O cruel, could'st thou find none other,
To wreck thy spleen on? Parricide!
Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother.

Poor Cupid sobbing scarce could speak;
Indeed, Mamma, I did not know ye:
Alas! how easy my mistake?
I took you for your likeness, Cloe.

Matthew Prior

Elegy VI. Anno Aetates Undevigesimo.[1]

As yet a stranger to the gentle fires
That Amathusia's smiling Queen^[2] inspires,
Not seldom I derided Cupid's darts,
And scorn'd his claim to rule all human hearts.
Go, child, I said, transfix the tim'rous dove,
An easy conquest suits an infant Love;
Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be
Sufficient triumph to a Chief like thee;
Why aim thy idle arms at human kind?
Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the noble mind.        
    The Cyprian^[3] heard, and, kindling into ire,
(None kindles sooner) burn'd with double fire.
    It was the Spring, and newly risen day
Peep'd o'er the hamlets on the First of May;
My eyes too tender for the blaze of light,
Still sought the shelter of retiring night,
When Love approach'd, in painted plumes arraye...

William Cowper