 | The Writings of Bret Harte |  |
279
THE VALENTINE
'T was St. Valentine's day, and he mused in his chair,
His feet on the fender—but his heart was not there;
His feet on the fender—but his heart was not there;
Thoughts of sweet Angelina, of all girls the best,
Fill'd his mind's waking dreams, and a sigh fill'd his breast.
Fill'd his mind's waking dreams, and a sigh fill'd his breast.
What sound breaks the silence?—the doorbell's loud jingle—
The blood leaves his heart, his cheeks also tingle.
The blood leaves his heart, his cheeks also tingle.
He rushed through the doorway, he jumps down the stair,
He opens the door, and the postman is there.
He opens the door, and the postman is there.
His ways are not pleasant—his words are but few;
“Mr. Jones?” “So I am!” “Here's a letter for you.”
“Mr. Jones?” “So I am!” “Here's a letter for you.”
He seized the loved missive, and straightway he fled,
With his lips all the way pressed to Washington's head.
With his lips all the way pressed to Washington's head.
“Oh, my fond Angelina!—dear girl!” thus he cried;
“'T is from thee, my own darling, and maybe—my bride.
“'T is from thee, my own darling, and maybe—my bride.
“Bashful girl! did'st thou think thy sweet hand to disguise
That no sign might reveal, and thy lover surprise?
That no sign might reveal, and thy lover surprise?
“But love—fancy painter—more signs doth espy
Than the casual observer would idly pass by.”
Than the casual observer would idly pass by.”
280
Thus spake he, then tore off the envious seal,
And impatiently read. What its contents reveal?
And impatiently read. What its contents reveal?
“Dear Sir:—The amount that stands charged to your name,
You'd oblige us by calling and settling the same!”
You'd oblige us by calling and settling the same!”
| The Writings of Bret Harte | |