Perhaps Longfellow has more cleverly—and certainly more tenderly—than any other poet described the earlier approaches of the god of Love, when he says,—,
"No; but I can fancy him, with his horrid bald head. Now, you know," holding up his hand to stop her as she is about to speak, "you know you said he hadn't a hair left on it.",
"Now, that is good of you," she says, gratefully, and then, as he stoops to kiss her, she throws her arms around his neck and bursts into tears..
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