English poem
Le Cupidon
by Anonymous
In yonder grove the linnets sing, Love is thither waiting; Come gentle fair, your favors bring, Joys alone creating.
On rosy bed, fond love reclines, With sweetest slumber blest; Each youth for him a laurel twines, Of ev'ry charm possest.
No whisp'ring wind but tells his tale, In echos to the heart; From ev'ry flow'r his sweets exhale, And all delight impart.
The babbling stream that binds the wood, A voice of love conveys; Each tender bird that skims the flood, His softest pow'r displays.