Chapter XII

Mild goddess, in Cyprus born,—thou child, not of the sea, but of Zeus,—why art thou thus vexed with mortals and immortals? Nay, my word is too weak, why wert thou thus bitterly wroth, yea, even with thyself, as to bring forth Love, so mighty a bane to all,—cruel and heartless Love, whose spirit is all unlike his beauty? And wherefore didst thou furnish him with wings, and give him skill to shoot so far, that, child as he is, we never may escape the bitterness of Love.