A poet wrote, “parting is such sweet sorrow.” A cloying sentiment, for the fading of love spawns bitter fruit, and better death than to awake the morrow. Though the fruit of love’s dawning seems so sweet, the joy of its consummation is but brief, and rapture turns too soon to anguished grief, for the pleasure of love is but a deceit. The promises of amorous desire, and endless bliss in paradise, are false, and fruit that tasted sweet soon decays. Better to aspire to less fleeting delights, however artful the siren’s call than to suffer love’s torment all one’s days.