Love Despoiled
As lone I sat one summer's day,
With mien dejected, Love came by;
His face distraught, his locks astray,
So slow his gait, so sad his eye,
I hailed him with a pitying cry:
'Pray, Love, what has disturbed thee so?'
Said I, amazed. 'Thou seem'st bereft;
And see thy quiver hanging low,--
What, not a single arrow left?
Pray, who is guilty of this theft?'
Poor Love looked in my face and cried:
'No thief were ever yet so bold
To rob my quiver at my side.
But Time, who rules, gave ear to Gold,
And all my goodly shafts are sold.'
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Added by Poetry Lover
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