Love Despoiled

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As lone I sat one summer's day,
  With mien dejected, Love came by;
  His face distraught, his locks astray,
  So slow his gait, so sad his eye,
  I hailed him with a pitying cry:

  "Pray, Love, what has disturbed thee so?"
  Said I, amazed. "Thou seem'st bereft;
  And see thy quiver hanging low,--
  What, not a single arrow left?
  Pray, who is guilty of this theft?"

  Poor Love looked in my face and cried:
  "No thief were ever yet so bold
  To rob my quiver at my side.
  But Time, who rules, gave ear to Gold,
  And all my goodly shafts are sold."

© Paul Laurence Dunbar