Cupid Interviewed: A Poem

CUPID INTERVIEWED. ( Written for the Era.)

BY BISHOP 0. F. WHITNEY.

Stay, Cupid, tell me —What is love?

"Tis something like a tree 'Known by its fruits,' I fancy, sir. And think you will agree."

What are its fruits —sweet words and smiles?' "Nay, these its blossoms are. The promises of fruit to come, It may be near or far."

And what are broken promises? "Frost-bitten buds, of course;

Then sweet words change to bitter ones, And smiles to frowns, or worse."

And letters —notes— love's messages?

"Oh, letters are but leaves, Whereof the swain disconsolate Hope's chaplet fondly weaves."

If letters looked for never come,

What must I then suppose? "Your tree is barren —dead—or in

Another's garden grows."

CUPID INTERVIEWED. 349

Hold! What of kisses soft and warm? "I really could'nt say

I never deal with metaphors When kisses come my way.

"But still I answer— Love, true love Is very like a tree;

The longer grown the stronger grown, Where'er that growth may be.

"Such love is not ephemeral, It dies not with the day;

It's flowers are heavenly immortelles.

It teems with fruit alway.

"But soul with soul must sympathize, As sun and soil agree, • Or there shall come nor fruit nor flower; For love is like a tree."