Valentine

        This is the time for birds to mate;
                To-day the dove
        Will mark the ancient amorous date
                With moans of love;
        The crow will change his call to prate
                His hopes thereof.

        The starling will display the red
                That lights his wings;
        The wren will know the sweet things said
                By him who swings
        And ducks and dips his crested head
                And sings and sings.

        They are obedient to their blood,
                Nor ask a sign,
        Save buoyant air and swelling bud,
                At hands divine,
        But choose, each in the barren wood,
                His valentine.

        In caution's maze they never wait
                Until they die;
        They flock the season's open gate
                Ere time steals by.
        Love, shall we see and imitate,
                You, love, and I?

John Charles McNeill

John Charles McNeill was a prominent American poet known for his works that vividly depicted the landscapes and spirit of North Carolina. Born on July 26, 1874, in Wagram, North Carolina, he won acclaim with his book 'Songs Merry and Sad,' which won the Patterson Cup in 1905. His poetry primarily reflects rural life and Southern traditions. Sadly, McNeill's promising career was cut short when he died on October 17, 1907, at the young age of 33.

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English

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To His Valentine

Muse, bid the Morne awake,
    Sad Winter now declines,
Each Bird doth chuse a Make,
    This day 's Saint VALENTINE'S;
For that good Bishop's sake
Get vp, and let vs see,
What Beautie it shall bee,
    That Fortune vs assignes.

But lo, in happy How'r,
    The place wherein she lyes,
In yonder climbing Tow'r,
    Gilt by the glitt'ring Rise;
O IOVE! that in a Show'r,
As once that Thund'rer did,
When he in drops lay hid,
    That I could her surprize.

Her Canopie Ile draw,
    With spangled Plumes bedight,
No Mortall euer saw
    So rauishing a sight;
That it the Gods might awe,
And pow'rfully trans-pierce
The Globie Vniuerse,
    Out-shooting eu'ry Light.

My Lips Ile softly lay
    Vpon her heau'nl...

Michael Drayton

St. Valentine.

    The girl's a slender thing and fair,
    With dimpled cheek and eyes ashine;
    The youth is tall, with bashful air.
    Heigho! a fond and foolish pair -
        The day is yours, St. Valentine.

    He says: "My heart will constant prove,
    Since every beat of it is thine;
    The sweetest joy of life is love."
    The birds are mating in the grove -
        The day is yours, St. Valentine.

    What matter that the wind blows chill
    Through leafless tree and naked vine,
    That snowdrifts linger on the hill,
    When warm love makes the pulses thrill?
        The day is yours, St. Valentine.

Jean Blewett

A Valentine

A Valentine The Bree was up; the floods were out
Around the hut of Culgo Jim:
The hand of God had broke the drought
And filled the channels to the brim:
The outline of the hut loomed dim
Among the shades of murmurous pine,
That eve of good Saint Valentine.

He watched, and to his sleepy gaze
The dying embers of the fire,
Its yellow reds and pearly greys,
Made pictures of his younger days.
Outside the waters mounted higher
Beneath a half-moon's sickly shine,
That eve of good Saint Valentine.

There, in the great slab fire-place
The oak log, burnt away to coal,
Showed him the semblance of a face
Framed in a golden aureole:
Eyes, the clear windows of a soul
Soul of a maid, who used to sign
Herself, Jim, dear, your Valentine.'
<...

Barcroft Boake

Valentine's Day

Oh!    I wish I were a tiny browny bird from out the south,
    Settled among the alder-holts, and twittering by the stream;
I would put my tiny tail down, and put up my tiny mouth,
    And sing my tiny life away in one melodious dream.

I would sing about the blossoms, and the sunshine and the sky,
    And the tiny wife I mean to have in such a cosy nest;
And if some one came and shot me dead, why then I could but die,
    With my tiny life and tiny song just ended at their best.

Eversley, 1873

Charles Kingsley

To His Valentine On St. Valentine's Day.

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

Robert Herrick

A Valentine

At last, dear love, the day is gone,
    The doors are barred--the lamps are lit,
The couch beside the fire is drawn,
    The nook whore thou wert wont to sit;

The book is open at the place,
    And half its leaves are still uncut,
And yet without thy listening face,
    I cannot read, the book I shut,

And muse, and dream:--it is the day
    When lovers, silent all the year,
Find tongues in floral tokens gay,
    To whisper all they long to hear.

Ah, many a time, and many a time
    I saw the question in thine eyes,
Where is the silver-sounding rhyme,
    The simple household melodies,

The harp that trembled to thy touch;
    Hast thou forgot thine early lore?
And know'st not that I love so much,
    That song contents my...

Kate Seymour Maclean