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.