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!”