O Cupid, Cupid; Get Your Bow!
Henry Lawson, 1889
Arming down along the stream,
Along the sparkling water,
And past the pool where lilies gleam,
There comes the squatter's daughter.
Her eyes are kind; her lips are warm;
And like a flower her face is;
The habit shows her bonny form
As graceful as a Grace's.
O I'll be mad of love, I know;
My head she'll surely addle;
O Cupid, Cupid; get your bow;
And shoot her from the saddle!
For, like a bird on breezes waft,
She quickly, quickly passes;
O Cupid, Cupid, draw your shaft;
And bring her to the grasses!
O she is worthy game for you;
And there is none to match her.
So, Cupid, send your arrow true;
And I'll be there to catch her!