Accept, dear girl, this little token,
And if between the
lines you seek,
You'll find the love I've often spoken-
The
love my dying lips shall speak.
Our little ones are making merry
O'er am'rous ditties rhymed
in jest,
But in these words (though awkward-very)
The
genuine article's expressed.
You are as fair and sweet and tender,
Dear brown-eyed little
sweetheart mine,
As when, a callow youth and slender,
I
asked to be your Valentine.
What though these years of ours be fleeting?
What though the
years of youth be flown?
I'll mock old Tempus with repeating,
"I love my love and her alone!"
And when I fall before his reaping,
And when my stuttering
speech is dumb,
Think not my love is dead or sleeping,
But
that it waits for you to come.
So take, dear love, this little token,
And if there speaks
in any line
The sentiment I'd fain have spoken,
Say, will
you kiss your Valentine?