Echo’s lament

I curse thee now and ever
Son of Aphrodite
For in your meeting me
Am I now cursed.

Would that I had met instead,
Thy brother winged as butterflies,
And with his leaden arrow,
Found my mate.

But you, oh radiant oaf,
Chose me to be thy toy,
Presenting me with features fair,
But heart that could not love me.

And so I am condemn’d by thee,
to love and have it unreturned,
To have hot passions sear my soul,
But none do sear for me.

Oh, curse you wing’d oaf,
And would the fates rise up for me,
To smash thy arrows and thy bow,
That you might let me be.

So as my part of meagre love,
Must now I sit, and sigh, and pant,
For one who loves me not,
And I must fade and yet reflect his sighs.

Thou are the oaf, and wing’d too,
You soar above we mortals,
Fire off thy bow, and leave thy mark,
Then leave us here to suffer.



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