Classic Poem

Love does not wound me with his bow nor does he kindle a fire, as before, to put in burning beneath my heart; but he brings a torch (Phanion) of Aphrodite, scented with myrrh, from the feasts of the Desires and strikes sharp fire into my eyes; the fire melts me, and this little torch (Phanion) is grown a flame of fir-wood burning in my heart!