The Same Old Story

The same old story told again--
  The maiden droops her head,
The ripening glow of her crimson cheek
  Is answering in her stead.
The pleading tone of a trembling voice
  Is telling her the way
He loved her when his heart was young
  In Youth's sunshiny day:
The trembling tongue, the longing tone,
  Imploringly ask why
They can not be as happy now
  As in the days gone by.
And two more hearts, tumultuous
  With overflowing joy,
Are dancing to the music
  Which that dear, provoking boy
Is twanging on his bowstring,
  As, fluttering his wings,
He sends his love-charged arrows
  While merrily be sings:
"Ho! ho! my dainty maiden,
  It surely can not be
You are thinking you are master
  Of your heart, when it is me."
And another gleaming arrow
  Does the little god's behest,
And the dainty little maiden
  Falls upon her lover's breast.
"The same old story told again,"
  And listened o'er and o'er,
Will still be new, and pleasing, too,
  Till "Time shall be no more."