Once thievish Love the honeyed hives would rob,

When a bee stung him: soon he felt a throb

Through all his finger-tips, and, wild with pain,

Blew on his hands and stamped and jumped in vain.

To AphroditÈ then he told his woe:

'How can a thing so tiny hurt one so?'

She smiled and said; 'Why thou'rt a tiny thing,

As is the bee; yet sorely thou canst sting.'