LOVE ASLEEP

by: Plato

E reached the grove's deep shadow and there found

Cythera's son in sleep's sweet fetters bound;

Looking like ruddy apples on their tree;

No quiver and no bended bow had he;

These were suspended on a leafy spray.

Himself in cups of roses cradled lay,

Smiling in sleep; while from their flight in air,

The brown bees to his soft lips made repair,

To ply their waxen task and leave their honey there.

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