A dew drop—on a rose leaf
The one will dry—the other fade
And time is like that silent thief
To rob the rosy blooming maid
But such plain truths I must decline
A sermon's not a Valentine—

I would say something very fine
But cannot fancy what to send
I've chose thee long my valentine
And this comes from a silent Friend
—Primroses and Hypathicas
I've gathered thee in earl[i]er days.

Cupids quivers, painted darts
Are ornaments for idle fancies
Flaming altars, bleeding hearts
Are not of love—but its romances
Yet spring's first flowers will well agree
With valentines I send to thee

The snowdrop—like to frozen dew
The crocus like a blazing star
The daiseys all the season through
Are Valentines so very rare
Some grow in gardens, some by brooks
And richly paint thy happy looks

The field flowers, they are heaven's smiles
Like sunbeams in the field of spring
Unused to sorrow, or to toils
Their minstrels are the birds who sing
With all their charms springs dress divine
I send thee Love a Valentine—
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