Valentines

Now little maid—with a Valentine; Most blythesome be and gay; For Valentines come not—come not— On every working day; And though they may, perchance on some Like cherry-blossoms fall. Believe me, Sweet—there oft are those Who don't get one at all!

So if you got a lacy one With a swinging paper door, And a precious verse behind it— (That's what Valentines are for), If a darling little cupid With roses on his head, Was aiming at a lonely heart, Most violently red—

Burn joss sticks! Oh, burn joss sticks— To the god of Happy Fate, For the postman does not enter At everybody's gate; And though on some, the Valentines Like cherry-blossoms fall— Believe me, there are often those Who don't get one at all!