We reached the grove's deep shadow and there found
Cythera's son in sleep's sweet fetters bound;
Looking like ruddy apples on their tree;
No quiver and no bended bow had he;
These were suspended on a leafy spray.
Himself in cups of roses cradled lay,
Smiling in sleep; while from their flight in air,
The brown bees to his soft lips made repair,
To ply their waxen task and leave their honey there.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Love Asleep by Plato )
- ages, Howard MacDougall
- Wellness doubt, Antonio Liao
- The Circle, dr.k.g.balakrishnan kandangath
- Shot By An Angry Voice, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- mornings, Howard MacDougall
- One Forgets, Naveed Akram
- See The Water, Lenny Orlando Camacho
- It's The Whys That Makes Us Suffer, Lenny Orlando Camacho
- Dessert With Youngest Son, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- The Loving Couple, Ronell Warren Alman