To Eros

I call to Eros, ancient one, child of chaos,
child of love and of strife, kin of the deep earth,
companion of laughter-loving Aphrodite.
Eros, confounding one, fleet-footed bearer
of shafts so sharp we scarcely feel the prick,
and yet no cut do we feel so deeply. Eros,
in Thespia and in Parios were you much honored;
in all the lands did men and women speak your name
with hope and reverence, burning sweet incense
and pouring out wine. All know your might, O Eros;
all know the barbs of your blessed darts, all know
the pain of such a wound; and all would sooner
be your prey than seek to dodge your bolt. Eros,
granter of the dearest gifts, clouder of senses,
piercer of hearts, loosener of limbs, I call to you.

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