Of tender missives — decorated treasures —
Of violets and roses, passing sweet;
Of throbbing heart-songs, tuned to lilting measures;
Of fervent verse — with somewhat halting feet;
Of every dainty Valentine that's fashioned
You've had a rather goodly share each year;
So will you take, in place of love-impassioned
Epistles, something quieter, my dear?
Three words I'll send — that is, if they're enough
To take the place of all that flossy stuff!
Throughout the year life is so full of trouble,
Saint Valentine, alas! is shoved aside;
Beneath grim work the lover's back must double,
And then he lets poor sentiment go slide!
We try to think of what you'd have us say, dear,
But when we've coaxed a good thought half way out,
A money-making idea's in the way, dear,
And then Love's gentle troops are put to rout.
So — with a business missive in each hand —
Will three words do? Or do you more demand?
Gone are the days when troubadors sang daily
Of hearts and flowers, lips and eyes and hair;
We take ( I fear ) our deep emotions gaily,
And think we have n't time to love or care.
Yet once a year it should n't be impossible
To Valentine a little, that is true;
Then gloss the faults of mine you think are glossible,
And I will troubador a bit for you;
So, by the stars that shine above you,
Hark to my valentine, my dear, I love you!