Dan Cupid wears disguises.
We never see his form,
Till suddenly he surprises
And takes the heart by storm.
He hides at times in the blushes
That tinge a cheek so fair,
Or oft in the moonlit hushes
In a sweet voice on the air.
Sometimes he’s in the dancing
Of mirth in azure eyes,
Sometimes in the curve entrancing
Of lips that part in sighs.
And sometimes in the glimmer
Of arm, rich lace beneath;
Sometimes in the tresses’ shimmer,
Sometimes in the peep of teeth.
Oh, he’s a little bandit,
And bold as bold can be.
He leads us, single-handed,
Into captivity.
For none is a match for Cupid.
He swifter is than thought.
The keenest mind is but stupid
When he begins to plot.