We reached the grove’s deep shadow and there found

Cythera’s son in sleep’s sweet fetters bound;

Looking like ruddy apples on their tree;

No quiver and no bended bow had he;

These were suspended on a leafy spray.

Himself in cups of roses cradled lay,

Smiling in sleep; while from their flight in air,

The brown bees to his soft lips made repair,

To ply their waxen task and leave their honey there.

Source 

As a student, of Classical Civilisation, I fell in love with Plato. I won’t get started discussing my feelings about him because you will end up sitting here for days reading or will just stop following me because you will realise how insane  passionate I am. When it comes to this man and the Greek Philosophers I could just ramble on. Annnyhooooow….. I love the imagery in this poem and thought that if I like it then someone else will. I will note, you may not fully appreciate it unless you read it out loud.