Edward Burne-Jones
English, 1833-1898

 1885

Art Institute of Chicago

If it be Cupid, why does he murder me,

Whose love was great, & never knew to hate?

This never ceases to astonish me,

Who never gave him cause to be irate:

Yet I allow him, without a complaint,

To consume me, just like Wax by fire.

And killing me, he desires that I live,

And loving others, cease to love myself.

What need is there to go on slaying me?

Who loves in vain has far enough of death.

— Maurice Sceve/Translated by Richard Sieburth