 | Poems |  |
A VALENTINE.
Prithee, said I, heart of mine,
Who shall be my valentine?
And my heart it made reply,
With a start and with a sigh,
For the matter care not I;
Nay, in sooth, the choice be thine,
Who shall be thy valentine.
Who shall be my valentine?
And my heart it made reply,
With a start and with a sigh,
For the matter care not I;
Nay, in sooth, the choice be thine,
Who shall be thy valentine.
Nay, thy secret, prithee, tell;
Trust me, heart, I know it well;
By thy current's quick retreat,
Breathless pause and fluttering beat,
By the flushes quick to meet
Her sweet coming, know I well
All and more than thou canst tell.
Trust me, heart, I know it well;
By thy current's quick retreat,
Breathless pause and fluttering beat,
By the flushes quick to meet
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All and more than thou canst tell.
Said I, silly heart, reveal
What thou canst no more conceal;
And my heart, that found no use
Further 'twas to urge excuse,
Gave its curbèd passion loose;
Emma, would that thou wert mine,
Mine—for aye my valentine!
What thou canst no more conceal;
And my heart, that found no use
Further 'twas to urge excuse,
Gave its curbèd passion loose;
Emma, would that thou wert mine,
Mine—for aye my valentine!
| Poems | |