Μεσονυκτίοις ποθ' ὥραις
στρέφεθ' ἡνίκ' Ἄρκτος ἤδη
κατὰ χεῖρα τὴν Βοώτου,
μερόπων δὲ φῦλα πάντα
κέαται κόπῳ δαμέντα,
τότ' Ἔρως ἐπισταθείς μευ
θυρέων ἔκοπτ' ὀχῆας.
τίς, ἔφην, θύρας ἀράσσει;
κατά μευ σχίζεις ὀνείρους.
ὁ δ' Ἔρως, ἄνοιγε, φησίν·
βρέφος εἰμί, μὴ φόβησαι·
βρέχομαι δὲ κἀσέληνον
κατὰ νύκτα πεπλάνημαι.
ἐλέησα ταῦτ' ἀκούσας,
ἀνὰ δ' εὐθὺ λύχνον ἅψας 
ἀνέῳξα, καὶ βρέφος μέν
ἐσορῶ φἐροντα τόξον
πτέρυγάς τε καὶ φαρέτρην.
παρὰ δ' ἱστίην καθῖσα,
παλάμαις τε χεῖρας αὐτοῦ
ἀνέθαλπον, ἐκ δὲ χαίτης
ἀπέθλιβον ὑγρὸν ὕδωρ.
ὁ δ', ἐπεὶ κρύος μεθῆκεν,
φέρε, φησί, πειράσωμεν
τόδε τόξον, εἴ τι μοι νῦν
βλάβεται βραχεῖσα νευρή.
τανύει δὲ καί με τύπτει
μέσον ἡπαρ, ὥσπερ οἶστρος·
ἀνὰ δ' ἅλλεται καχάζων,
ξένε δ', εἶπε, συγχάρηθι·
κέρας ἀβλαβὲς μὲν ἡμῖν,
σὺ δὲ καρδίην πονήσεις.

In deepest night,  
when mother Bear falls  
beneath her son Boötes' protecting hand,  
and all the tribes of mankind  
sleep blissfully from their toil,  
then Cupid, arriving at my door,
began pounding at the door's bolt
“Who,” I asked, “is that banging my door?
You're tearing my dreams asunder.”
But Cupid says, "Do please open;
I'm but a mere child, fear me not;
I'm soaking wet and in the moon's light,
I've wandered here through the night."
Hearing these words moved me to pity,  
so that straightway, with lit lamp,
I made open the door to him, to see
a young child with a bow,
bearing wings, and a quiver.
I sat him close by the hearth,
and warmed his hands in mine,
and from his soaked hair
squeezed right out the wet.
But when from shivering recovered,
he asked for his bow, to try it,
lest when the string was drawn back
with damage, it was now beset.
With an arrow, he makes the test.
On its striking my chest, my heart frenzies;
But jumping up in a fit of laughter,
he says, "Stranger, what joy for you:
While the bow, on me, is without effect,
you're, for ever more, to love enslaved!"