St. Valentines Day

ST. VALENTINES DAY

This day was sacred, once, to Pan,
And kept with song and wine ;
But when our better creed began
T was held no more divine,
Until there came a holy man,
One Bishop Valentine. 

He, finding, as all good men will
Much in the ancient way
That was not altogether ill,
Restored the genial day;
And we the pagan fashion still
With pious hearts obey.

Without this custom, all would go
Amiss in Love's affairs,
All passion would be poor dumb show,
Pent sighs, and secret prayers;
And bashful maids would never know
What timid swain was theirs. 

Ah ! many things with mickle pains
Without reward are done,
A thousand poets rack their brains
For her who loves but one ;
Yea, many weary with their strains
The nymph that cares for none.

Yet, should no faithful heart be faint
To give affection's sign:
So, dearest, let mine own acquaint
With its emotion - thine;
And blessings on that fine old Saint,
Good Bishop Valentine !

Thomas William Parsons.