Classic Poem

To love I yield, — nor longer I
Th' unequal war with Cupid try;
For when I once, with stubborn heart,
Secure of love, despis'd his dart,
The God, resolv'd to quell my pride,
His quiver fasten'd to his side,
And bent his bow, or bade me yield,
Or try the fortune of the field.
Arm'd as Achilles was of yore
A corslet on my breast I bore,
Prepar'd with shield and spear in hand,
Or to attack him, or withstand:
Accouter'd thus, the field I sought,
And, to the god oppos'd, I fought;
Cupid his darts began to ply,
I fear'd their force, and wish'd to sly;
His darts all spent, when he had never
Another arrow in his quiver,
Enrag'd, himself a dart became
And swiftly glided through my frame
The war of arms in vain I wage,
Within I feel the battle rage;
Ah! what avails or sword or dart
Against the foe within my heart?