A Valentine
Your cheeks are garden-spots
Of Touch-me-nots;
Your hair the gathered beams
Of sunny dreams;
And that your soul looks thro'
Are bits of fallen blue.
No wall hath circled yet,
Nor dews have wet,
A red rose like your lips.
To steal sweet kisses from your brow,
A lightsome zephyr I would be,—
A brook to murmur you a vow
Of love and constancy.
Your cheeks are garden-spots
Of Touch-me-nots;
Your hair the gathered beams
Of sunny dreams;
And that your soul looks thro'
Are bits of fallen blue.
No wall hath circled yet,
Nor dews have wet,
A red rose like your lips.
To steal sweet kisses from your brow,
A lightsome zephyr I would be,—
A brook to murmur you a vow
Of love and constancy.
Of Touch-me-nots;
Your hair the gathered beams
Of sunny dreams;
And that your soul looks thro'
Are bits of fallen blue.
No wall hath circled yet,
Nor dews have wet,
A red rose like your lips.
To steal sweet kisses from your brow,
A lightsome zephyr I would be,—
A brook to murmur you a vow
Of love and constancy.
Your cheeks are garden-spots
Of Touch-me-nots;
Your hair the gathered beams
Of sunny dreams;
And that your soul looks thro'
Are bits of fallen blue.
No wall hath circled yet,
Nor dews have wet,
A red rose like your lips.
To steal sweet kisses from your brow,
A lightsome zephyr I would be,—
A brook to murmur you a vow
Of love and constancy.
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