Ah, Eros doth not always smite

    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.