{"url":"https://anthologiagraeca.org/api/texts/14966/?format=json","language":{"code":"eng","iso_name":"English","url":"https://anthologiagraeca.org/api/languages/eng/?format=json"},"edition":null,"unique_id":100005250,"created_at":"2024-09-06T22:41:34.006734Z","updated_at":"2024-09-06T22:41:34.036360Z","validation":0,"status":1,"text":"T'other day as I was twining\r\nRoses, for a crown to dine in,\r\nWhat, of all things, 'midst the heap,\r\nShould I light on, fast asleep,\r\nBut the little desperate elf,\r\nThe tiny traitor, Love himself!\r\nBy the wings I pinch'd him up\r\nLike a bee, and in a cup\r\nOf my wine I plunged and sank him;\r\nThen what d'ye think I did?—I drank him.\r\nFaith, I thought him dead. Not he!\r\nThere he lives with tenfold glee;\r\nAnd now this moment with his wings\r\nI feel him tickling my heart-strings.\r\n\r\n— Hunt, Leigh (1784–1859), The New Monthly Magazine (September 1836)","comments":[],"alignments":[],"passages":["https://anthologiagraeca.org/api/passages/urn:cts:greekLit:tlg7000.tlg001.ag:16.388/?format=json"]}