Come gentle Air! th' AEolian shepherd said, <br />While Procris panted in the secret shade: <br />Come, gentle Air, the fairer Delia cries, <br />While at her feet her swain expiring lies. <br />Lo the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray, <br />Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play! <br />In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found, <br />Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound: <br />Both gifts destructive to the givers prove; <br />Alike both lovers fall by those they love. <br />Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives, <br />At random wounds, nor knows the wound she gives: <br />She views the story with attentive eyes, <br />And pities Procris, while her lover dies.<br /><br />Alexander Pope<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-a-fan-of-the-author-s-design/
