Three Idylls from the Greek Anthology

Great Cypris stood beside me, while still I slumbered, 
and with her beautiful hand she led the child Love, 
whose head was earthward bowed. This word she spake to me, 
"Dear herdsman, prithee take Love, and teach him to sing." 
So said she, and departed, and I -- my store of pastoral song 
I taught to Love, in my innocence, as if he had been fain to learn. 
I taught him how the cross-flute was invented by Pan,
and the flute by Athene, and by Hermes the tortoise-shell lyre,
and the harp by sweet Apollo. All these things I taught him 
as best I might; but he, not heeding my words, himself 
would sing me ditties of love, and taught me the desires 
of mortals and immortals, and all the deeds of his mother. 
And I clean forgot the lore I was teaching to Love, 
but what Love taught me, and his love ditties, I learned them all.

Would that my father had taught me the craft
  of a keeper of sheep, 
For so in the shade of the elm-tree, or under
  the rocks on the steep, 
Piping on reeds I had sat, and had lulled my 
  sorrow to sleep. 

The thievish Love, -- a cruel bee once stung him, 
as he was rifling honey from the hives, 
and pricked his finger-tips all; then he was in pain, 
and blew upon his hand, and leaped, 
and stamped the ground. 
And then he showed his hurt to Aphrodite,
and made much complaint, how that the bee is a tiny creature, 
and yet what wounds it deals! 
And his mother laughed out, and said, 
"Art thou not even such a creature as the bees, 
for tiny art thou, but what wounds thou dealest!"