I shroud my eyes from sights I dare not see, Yet who so spies must tell his tale to me. Madman am I, who give my vote for death, Yet heed not the grim hand that beckoneth. Love I entreat to go, and while I pray Grasp him with nervous fingers, lest he stray. Ah! than love’s blessing is no deadlier curse, And yet—and yet—to live undamned were worse. PERCY HEMINGWAY. THE TRIUMPH OF CUPID He came in busy hours— My holidays are few— He brought the scent of flowers, And whispered, dear, of you. I vowed that I would flay him, And scourge him out of sight; Nay more, I vowed to slay him, The mischief-making sprite. I gave him caustic chiding, Let fly a poisoned dart. Presto! the lad was hiding Safely within my heart! There all day long he chatters Of some one’s charm and grace; Till nothing really matters Except to see your face. I would I had not chidden, Nor tried the sprite to kill; For in my heart safe hidden, He works his wayward will. GERALDINE MEYRICK. SONG TO CUPID O wary elf Cupid, O dimpled, coy Cupid, Are you lost in the moonbeams, or hid in a rose? Who saw you, so nimble, slip out of a thimble, And hang from the loops of a lily-maid’s bows? Wee, spry little midget, the world’s in a fidget To snare and then coddle you, mischievous sprite; Your pranks and mad gambols and primrose-path rambles ’Mid briers and brambles are all my delight. In ivy-clad bowers you nestle for hours, And lurk in the flowers that swing in the breeze; There counting the kisses, the sweet stolen blisses, Of Strephon and Phyllis in languorous ease. We trifle and putter, our hearts in a flutter, In a tangled skein spun by the toiletted fair, The weary hours whiling, and dull care beguiling— Lo! dimpled and smiling, you’re loitering there! O wary elf Cupid, O cunning, coy Cupid, Are lovers all stupid, dear, rollicking boy? While maidens are sighing and love-knots are tying, The snap of your bow-string bodes sorrow and joy! HAROLD VAN SANTVOORD. [Illustration: BANISHED LOVE] O shepherds! have ye wandering seen A wingèd boy with blinded eyes? I drove him from me yester e’en, Despite his tears and pleading sighs. He bears a pretty bow, and keen Tipped arrows in his quiver lie. O shepherds, tell me, have you seen This banished Love come wandering by? Why shines the sun, regret to mock, Why flaunt the flowers in hues so gay, Why skip with joy the snowy flock, When poor lost Love is far away? Unfeeling shepherds, wherefore smile And point toward my breaking heart? What! close behind me all this while? O sweet! we two no more shall part.