CUPID and my Campaspe played

At cards for kisses; Cupid paid.

He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,

His mother’s doves and team of sparrows;

Loses them too; then down he throws

The coral of his lip, the rose

Growing on his cheek, but none knows how;

With these the crystal of his brow,

And then the dimple of his chin:—

All these did my Campaspe win.

At last he set her both his eyes;

She won, and Cupid blind did rise.

O Love! has she done this to thee?

What shall, alas, become of me!