Cupid Abroad Was Lated
CUPID abroad was lated in the night,
His wings were wet with ranging in the rain;
Harbor he sought, to me he took his flight
To dry his plumes. I heard the boy complain:
I oped the door and granted his desire,
I rose myself, and made the wag a fire.
Looking more narrow by the fire's flame,
I spied his quiver hanging by his back.
Doubting the boy might my misfortune frame,
I would have gone, for fear of further wrack;
But what I drad did me, poor wretch, betide,
For forth he drew an arrow from his side.
He pierced the quick, and I began to start,
A pleasing wound but that it was too high;
His shaft procured a sharp yet sugared smart.
Away he flew, for why is wings were dry;
But left the arrow sticking in my breast,
That sore I grieved I welcomed such a guest.
Robert Greene's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Cupid Abroad Was Lated by Robert Greene )
- Beneath A Broad Smile, John Dadzie
- The prodigal brother, Mark Heathcote
- Happy birthday late Mum, Adewale Ajakanri
- Dark Room, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Then you go inside yourself., RIC S. BASTASA
- There's No Escaping Family, A.J. Kent
- the mother sparrow, RIC S. BASTASA
- fed up of hiding the sadness and anger, xenalee haynes
- The Milennium Park, Tony Adah
- don't you dare send me a postcard, Mandolyn ...
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
- Heather Burns
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)