Dearest, let these roses
In their purity,
Be a present symbol
Of my love for thee.
Underneath the blossom
Thorns are sure to grow;
Take heed lest you touch them,
They would pain you so!
Ah! my faults like thorns are,
But cannot they be
Hidden 'neath the flower
Of my love for thee?
-
-
Accept, dear girl, this little token,
And if between the lines you seek,
You'll find the love I've often spoken-
The love my dying lips shall speak.Our little ones are making merry
O'er am'rous ditties rhymed in jest,
But in these words (though awkward-very)
The genuine article's expressed.You are as fair and sweet and tender,
... -
Oh! little loveliest lady mine,
What shall I send for your valentine?
Summer and flowers are far away;
Gloomy old Winter is king to-day;
Buds will not blow, and sun will not shine:
What shall I do for a valentine?I ’ve searched the gardens all through and through
For a bud to tell of my love so true;
But buds are asleep, and... -
She sits within the white oak hall,
Hung with the trophies of the chase—
Helen, a stately maid and tall,
Dark-haired and pale of face;
With drooping lids and eyes that brood,
Sunk in the depths of some strange mood,
She gazes in the fireplace, where
The oozing pine logs snap and flare,
Wafting the perfume of their native... -
Such times as windy moods do stir
The foamless billows of the wheat,
I glimpse the floating limbs of her
In instant visions melting sweet.A milky shoulder’s dip and gleam,
Or arms that clasp upon the air,
An upturned face’s rosy dream,
Half blinded by the sunlit hair.A haunting mermaid mid the swell
And... -
O, SWEET little maid of a Puritan line,
O, dear little maid of a Puritan town,
On the morn of that saint whom they name Valentine,
I am asking a boon,—and I pray do not frown;
For, coy little Puritan maid of to-day,
I ask but a quaint little Puritan "Yea."
Look around on the walls of your Puritan...Well dost thou, Love, thy solemn Feast to hold
In vestal February;
Not rather choosing out some rosy day
From the rich coronet of the coming May,
When all things meet to marry!
O, quick, praevernal Power
That signall'st punctual through the sleepy mould
The Snowdrop's time to flower,...Your gran'ma, in her youth, was quite
As blithe a little maid as you.
And, though her hair is snowy white,
Her eyes still have their maiden blue,
And on her checks, as fair as thine,
Methinks a girlish blush would glow
If she recalled the valentine
She got, ah! many years ago....