CUPID abroad was lated in the night, <br />His wings were wet with ranging in the rain; <br />Harbor he sought, to me he took his flight <br />To dry his plumes. I heard the boy complain: <br />I oped the door and granted his desire, <br />I rose myself, and made the wag a fire. <br /> <br />Looking more narrow by the fire's flame, <br />I spied his quiver hanging by his back. <br />Doubting the boy might my misfortune frame, <br />I would have gone, for fear of further wrack; <br />But what I drad did me, poor wretch, betide, <br />For forth he drew an arrow from his side. <br /> <br />He pierced the quick, and I began to start, <br />A pleasing wound but that it was too high; <br />His shaft procured a sharp yet sugared smart. <br />Away he flew, for why is wings were dry; <br />But left the arrow sticking in my breast, <br />That sore I grieved I welcomed such a guest.<br /><br />Robert Greene<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cupid-abroad-was-lated/
