 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
140
THE VALENTINE.
My valentine's a page of gold,
Upon it by the morning light
I trace new hopes and fancies bright,
So sweetly is the story told,
That old, old story, yet so new,
A little song of love, a voice
That bids my faltering soul rejoice,
A promise to be ever true;
O love, sweet love, this honest heart
Unknown to coquetry or art,
Hath sworn fidelity to you.
And to my trustful heart I press
My valentine, with fond caress.
Upon it by the morning light
I trace new hopes and fancies bright,
So sweetly is the story told,
That old, old story, yet so new,
A little song of love, a voice
That bids my faltering soul rejoice,
A promise to be ever true;
O love, sweet love, this honest heart
Unknown to coquetry or art,
Hath sworn fidelity to you.
And to my trustful heart I press
My valentine, with fond caress.
But still as sweetly as of old,
And now the long, long years have fled,
I read the treasure sheet of gold.
What tho' my love, alas! be dead
And as I read from yonder skies
An angel with a radiant crown
Comes to my lonely chamber down
And bids me dry my streaming eyes.
So in the soft declining day
I think of him who's far away,
Whose body in the churchyard lies.
And to my broken heart I press
My valentine with fond caress.
And now the long, long years have fled,
I read the treasure sheet of gold.
What tho' my love, alas! be dead
And as I read from yonder skies
An angel with a radiant crown
Comes to my lonely chamber down
And bids me dry my streaming eyes.
So in the soft declining day
I think of him who's far away,
Whose body in the churchyard lies.
And to my broken heart I press
My valentine with fond caress.
January 28th, 1882.
| A little book of tribune verse | |