Annotations AH, Eros doth not always smite With cruel, shining dart, Whose bitter point with sudden might Rends the unhappy heart — Not thus forever purple-stained, And sore with steely touch, Else were its living fountain drained Too oft and overmuch. O'er it sometimes the boy will deign Sweep the shaft's feathered end ; And friendship rises without pain Where the white plumes descend. Book traversal links for Ah, Eros doth not always smite ‹ Death, men say, is like a sea Up Who hath ever given ›
