In Cupid's court — A Closer Reading

Voices of Resistance and Surrender

The anthology foregrounds speakers who resist Cupid’s power even as they acknowledge it. In Margaret J. Preston’s “The Begging Cupid,” the speaker initially sees only “innocent archness” and “childish grace,” but the poem pivots on a concealed arrow: the speaker is tricked into sympathy before realizing the deception. The final line—“I have nothing to give you,—Go!”—is a defiant refusal that still admits the rogue’s effectiveness. Similarly, Francis Davison’s sonnet-like plea uses syllogistic reasoning: if Cupid is a god, he must be just, yet he wounds only the speaker, not the beloved. The argument is logical but futile, a complaint that acknowledges the god’s arbitrary power. Other poems, like “Love’s Tyranny” and “Cupid’s Curse,” adopt a tone of mock-legal grievance, as if the speaker could sue the god. This adversarial stance gives way, however, to poems of surrender: “Love’s Going” and “The Growth of Love” trace a shift from resistance to acceptance, often through imagery of sleep, dreaming, or natural cycles.

Narrative and Lyric: Two Modes of Telling

The collection alternates between narrative poems that recount a specific encounter with Cupid and lyric poems that meditate on love’s effects. James B. Kenyon’s “Cupid’s Arrows” tells a complete story: Phœbe finds Cupid sleeping, kisses him, wakes him, and is shot as she flees. The poem ends with a moral warning—“Maidens, ere you wake Love, tarry / First to filch his every dart”—that turns the narrative into a cautionary tale. In contrast, Charles W. Coleman’s “Love’s Going” is purely lyrical, repeating the phrase “Love lies a-sleeping” as a refrain while the speaker urges a maiden not to wake him. The poem’s structure is circular, with each stanza returning to the sleeping figure, and the final line—“Love lies a-sleeping, and he may not sing”—leaves the situation unresolved. This juxtaposition of narrative clarity and lyrical ambiguity gives the anthology a varied pace: some poems move quickly through action, while others linger on a single image or emotion.

Recurring Imagery and the Shifting Role of the Beloved

Across the poems, certain images recur: arrows, bows, blindness, sleep, roses, and the figure of Cupid as a child or rogue. The beloved, however, is often absent or silent. In “Love! if a god thou art,” the lady is mentioned only as the one who “laughs thee to scorn”; in “Love’s Going,” the maiden is addressed but does not speak. The focus remains on the speaker’s internal state. A notable exception is “Cupid’s Arrows,” where Phœbe acts—she kisses Cupid—but her laughter after being shot suggests a playful complicity. The editor’s selection thus emphasizes the speaker’s perspective, making the beloved a catalyst rather than a character. The imagery of sleep and waking is particularly insistent: Cupid is often depicted asleep, and the poems debate whether to wake him or let him rest. This motif ties to the anthology’s broader concern with the uncontrollable nature of love—it arrives unbidden, like an arrow, or lingers in a dream state that the speaker cannot sustain.

Readers approaching In Cupid’s Court will find a deliberately curated sequence that rewards attention to shifts in tone and form. The poems are best read in order, as the editor has arranged them to create contrasts and echoes. Pay particular attention to the way each poem frames Cupid—as a child, a tyrant, a beggar, or a sleeping god—and how the speaker’s stance changes from poem to poem. The collection does not argue for a single view of love but instead presents a chorus of voices, each trying to negotiate with a power that cannot be reasoned with or escaped.

The rain kept time with the page’s rhythm, that old tug-of-war between mockery and longing in In Cupid’s Court. Years later, caught in another grey afternoon, I found myself thinking how the salty stubbornness of those verses might echo a different shoreline. It drifted me toward a tattered copy of On old Cape Cod — Themes and Context, just to feel that same weathered honesty again.