THE HEART OF ICE

Now whither are you flying And on what game intent, Cupid? There’s no denying On mischief you are bent. What is the use of trying To look so innocent? What means your empty quiver? Did heart of some coquette Your golden arrows shiver? Or did you, boy, upset Your darts in Lethe’s river, Or break them in a pet? What is it you’re concealing, My patience to annoy? A heart you have been stealing, Or some such foolish toy? Come, now—no double-dealing! Out with it—Cupid, boy! “I have,” quoth Cupid, shyly, “A thing wherewith to hew Cold hearts” (he hinted slyly That such a heart I knew). “’Tis recommended highly— An ice-pick—what say you?” Gravely I shake my finger At Cupid—“’Tis indeed The very thing to bring her To reason, boy, so speed! Fly, Cupid! Do not linger— Jove grant you may succeed!”