C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Cupid Mistaken

AS after noon, one summer’s day,

Venus stood bathing in a river,

Cupid a-shooting went that way,

New strung his bow, new filled his quiver.

With skill he chose his sharpest dart,

With all his might his bow he drew;

Swift to his beauteous parent’s heart

The too well guided arrow flew.

I faint! I die! the goddess cried;

O cruel, couldst thou find none other

To wreck thy spleen on? Parricide!

Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother.

Poor Cupid, sobbing, scarce could speak:

Indeed, mamma, I did not know ye;

Alas! how easy my mistake,—

I took you for your likeness Chloe.