Valentine's Day

"For this was on seynt Volantynys day Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese his make."

"To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day, All in the morning betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your Valentine. Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes, And dupp'd the chamber-door; Let in the maid, that out a maid Never departed more."

"Saint Valentine is past; Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?"

"Hayle Bishop Valentine whose day this is All the Ayre is thy Diocese And all the chirping Queristers And other birds ar thy parishioners Thou marryest every yeare The Lyrick Lark, and the graue whispering Doue, The Sparrow that neglects his life for loue, The houshold bird with the redd stomacher Thou makst the Blackbird speede as soone, As doth the Goldfinch, or the Halcyon The Husband Cock lookes out and soone is spedd And meets his wife, which brings her feather-bed. This day more cheerfully than ever shine This day which might inflame thy selfe old Valentine."

"The rose is red, the violet's blue The honey's sweet, and so are you. Thou are my love and I am thine; I drew thee to my Valentine. The lot was cast and then I drew; And Fortune said it shou'd be you."

"On paper curiously shaped Scribblers to-day of every sort, In verses Valentines yclep'd, To Venus chime their annual court. I too will swell the motley throng, And greet the all auspicious day, Whose privilege permits my song My love thus secret to convey."

"Muse, bid the Morn awake! Sad Winter now declines, Each bird doth choose a mate; This day's Saint Valentine's. For that good bishop's sake Get up and let us see What beauty it shall be That Fortune us assigns."

"Oft have I heard both youths and virgins say, Birds chuse their mates and couple too this day: But by their flight I never can devine When I shall couple with my valentine."

"No popular respect will I omit To do the honour on this happy day, When every loyal lover tasks his wit His simple truth in studious rhymes to pay, And to his mistress dear his hopes convey. Rather thou knowest I would still outrun All calendars with Love's whose date alway Thy bright eyes govern better than the Sun,— For with thy favour was my life begun, And still I reckon on from smiles to smiles, And not by summers, for I thrive on none But those thy cheerful countenance compiles; Oh! if it be to choose and call thee mine, Love, thou art every day my Valentine!"

"Oh, cruel heart! ere these posthumous papers Have met thine eyes, I shall be out of breath; Those cruel eyes, like two funereal tapers, Have only lighted me the way to death. Perchance thou wilt extinguish them in vapours, When I am gone, and green grass covereth Thy lover, lost; but it will be in vain— It will not bring the vital spark again."

"Hail to thy returning festival, old Bishop Valentine! Great is thy name in the rubric, Thou venerable arch flamen of Hymen. * * * Like unto thee, assuredly, there is no other mitred father in the calendar."

"Apollo has peeped through the shutter, And awaken'd the witty and fair; The boarding-school belle's in a flutter, The twopenny post's in despair; The breath of the morning is flinging A magic on blossom and spray, And cockneys and sparrows are singing In chorus on Valentine's day."