# Sentimental valentine writer/The Gentleman's Valentine Writer

THE
GENTLEMEN’S VALENTINE WRITER.
A love that’s firm, a heart that’s true, Dear Ellen, here I offer you; Do not the votive offering spurn, But give affection in return.
A fervent affection I offer thee, dearest, Say, will you the offering deign to receive? ’Tis promoted by love, by feeling sincerest, ’Twould ask thee, dear Mary, its truth to believe.
The pleasure which, I own, is mine, In sending you this Valentine, I trust, on its receipt, may be, Participated, too, by thee; And though but few the lines appear, Their purport is not less sincere; My object being thus to prove, The firm attachment of my love.
Let Love, soft beaming from thine eyes, To me its bliss impart, Like summer sun in orient skies, Speak solace to my heart.
O haste, my love, and name the day When I can call you mine, And we to church shall baste away, My cbarming Valentine.
​If truest love can gain respect, I may a mutual love expect: If fond affection can avail, Then may I hope Love will prevail.
I’d have, my love, a happy home, (Just what a home should be,) A home of peace, a home of love, As made by thee and me. When true affection warms the breast, And dreams like these depart; It matters little what’s our lot, Love’s home is in the heart.
The sun may shine on forms as fair, The earth hold hearts as true. But tell me not what other’s are,— My only world’s in you.
Yes, I have gaz’d on many an eye, Perhaps as bright as thine: But never have I wish’d to call Them my own Valentine.
O could thy charms be bartered For all on earth we view, And I had countless treasures: I’d give them all for you.
Let him whom wealth enamours, Still wear its sordid chain; But, ah ! without thee, dearest, To me all wealth were vain.
Bid me to live, and I will live, Thy faithful love to be; Or bid me to love, and I will give A loving heart to thee.—
A heart as soft, a heart as kind, A heart as sound and free, ​As any in the world thou’lt find,— That heart I’ll give to thee.
Thou art my life, my love, my heart; Thou art the world to me: And if thy will thou’lt but impart, I’ll do’t, or die for thee.
Letters but fondly trace, at best, The thoughts which fill a lover's breast; And words but feebly can impart The warm affection of the heart.
How then shall I my love reveal, Or speak its power, or conceal The anxious hope, the affection true, The love which lives alone for you.
Art thou not dear unto my heart; Ah! search that heart and see, And from my bosom tear the part Which beats not true to thee.
But to that bosom thou art dear, More dear than words can tell: And if a fault be cherished there, 'Tis loving thee too well.
Cupid, god that rules my heart; To my lovely maid impart My prayers, my vows, my love sincere, To her fair hands this letter bear, And let the lovely maid divine, Become my faithful Valentine.
This little ring I offer you, Conveys to you my heart; ’Tis wounded, but I know, my dear, You soon can heal the smart.
​Before I part with gifts so fair, The hostage I shall want, Are truth and love, as pledges that Your hand you soon will grant.
Then let’s to church without delay, No longer let us linger, That I may place this sacred tie Upon your pretty finger.
This day for love and joy was made, Then let no gloom its brightness shade; In sweetest notes the birds rejoice, And youths and maidens make their choice. To me, then, love, thy heart resign, And be my chosen Valentine.
What mortal on thee without rapture can gaze, Whose form so angelic such graces displays? Such virtue, such beauty, so noble an air, Our heart must enslave, and our senses ensnare O cease, then, dear maid, so enchanting to be, O list to thy lover who doats upon thee.
When evening sets in, when the world is at rest, Calm reflection we most can enjoy: While the stillness around us at once gives a zest, To the thoughts which no objects decoy.
Then how sweet ’tis to muse on the time that hath If in love, or in friendship ’twere past; To remember each look, every word that was said, By the fair one we love to the last.
Though all else be ebecrless, though cares intervene Still we feel Love our hearts can inspire; Shall I then forget the bright days we have seen, Or the fair one I love and admire?
​Wouldst ask by whom these simple lines are sent? Oh! seek the meaning of their true intent; The sender’s name I leave you to divine, But Love’s the purport of my Valentine.
To tell thee of my passion true, Of all that I have felt for you, Of what I ne’er can cease to feel, I would, but cannot now, reveal. A Valentine will not admit Sufficient space to compass it; A single line must serve to own I love but you, and you alone. Should this my frank avowal give Delight to you, for whom I live, Let the reply which you transmit, In candid terms acknowledge it.
To listen to thy tuneful voice, to gaze upon thy face, To share with thee, dear Valentine, the virtuous embrace, Such tender and such pure delight as often as I’ve proved, So often have I felt how much and truly I have loved.
The charm that best can sweeten life, Is found to be a faithful wife; She shares our bliss, she soothes our wo, With kindness love alone can know; The wife I seek—good, kind, and true, Love whispers—I shall find in you.
Present or absent, I love thee more Than youth ever loved his dear fair one before; Present or absent, that love can impart The sweetest emotions that gladden the heart.
My vow I have registered, ever to prove True, constant, sincere, and faithful in love; I ask, in return, but the wish to enshrine, The prayer of my heart on the tablet of thine.
​Oh! can you think that heart untrue That glows with ardent love for you? Or think my vows are insincere, And that I faithless shall appear? Ah, no! by all that’s good and fair, Your love shall be my chiefest care, And heav’n and earth shall witness be, That mortal never lov’d like me!
How oft, my fair one, hast thou said, Nor canst thou the dear truth disown,— Thou wouldst not change thy constant love To be the partner of a throne!
Accept this little trifle, pray, Do not the gift decline; For the acceptance then will say, Thou’lt be my Valentine.
Though to no value it has claim, It is of love the sign: Then let the donor of the same Be deemed thy Valentine.
I ask not wealth—the rich we see Oft wretched ’midst their pelf: Thy merit is enough for me; A treasure in itself.
O had I bags of glittering gold, The whole would I resign, As mine my charmer to behold, And be her Valentine.
Thou art my love, and thou alone; O, both by day and night, I own,
For thee I pine:
My thoughts and dreams are all on thee; Then say, my fair one, wilt thou be
My Valentine?
​Love thee!—take it not amiss. And, O! supreme would be my bliss
If thou wert mine:
Then say, my fair, if thou agree To make me happy, and to be
My Valentine.
Believe me, that by day and night, I’d feel ineffable delight
In being thine.
Then doubt me not, O do not fear, For thou shall find me every year
Thy Valentine.
Every day I think on thee, Every night my love I see. Thoughts and dreams so well agree, I sure may say, They’re indeed a happy sign, That my love shall soon be mine, And I shall be her Valentine, Auspieions day!
Dear maid, allow a timid youth, With trembling hand to pen. And tell the secrets of his heart On day of Valentine.
Long has he felt Love’s ardent flame, And long the same conceal’d, Trusting, by time and fortune’s aid, The same would be reveal’d.
And, O how happy would he be, If freed from every pain, If for his heart you truly would Return him yours again.
Hence, little Cupid, through the paths of air, To her I love sincerely, hence, repair; ​Bear with you this, my Valentine, and say, That you are come on Cupid’s holiday, Bringing from me, her own devoted youth, This pledge of love, fidelity, and truth. Begone, then, Cupid, ere the day pass by, To her I love sincerely, quickly fly.
Day dream of life, and hope, and love, Promethean spark of truth above; O how my inmost spirit burns! How my heart toward thee yearns!
Dear to my bosom—deeply dear, It swells with joy when thou art near; My star of life—mine, only mine, Joy of my soul, my Valentine.
O, why should not the ladies be In sentiments as frank as we? No cause I see a maid to blame Who does with modesty proclaim Her love; and kind St. Valentine Does in this same opinion join, And I with rapture choose you mine.
The smiling morn, the op’ning spring, Invite the cheerful birds to sing; And while they warble on each spray, Love melts the universal lay. Let us, my dearest, timely wise, Like them improve the hour that flies, And in Love’s rapturous bliss combine, Upon the day of Valentine.
Let thy tongue, soft love expressing, In my ears fond thoughts repeat; Let thy heart, its truth confessing, With the purest passion beat.
​Thee alone my heart desiring, Only hopes thou wilt approve: Only this from thee requiring— Love returning equal love.
A something whisper’d in my ear, Compose a Valentine, And send it to thy only dear, For then she may be thine. I have compos’d this Valentine, And send it, love, to thee; And if, sweet maid, thou wilt be mine, Thy Valentine I’ll be.
With rapture I receiv’d from thee, Thy charming Valentine; Believe me, Emma, charming maid! That I am ever thine. For ever festive be the hour Thou didst thy flame impart; Believe me, thou alone hast power To captivate my heart.
Honour shall guide my every act, And every wish inspire; Honour shall light up Hymen’s torch, And fan the sacred fire. So then to church let us repair, And there, my Valentine, Thou wilt become my dearest spouse, And I’ll be truly thine.
S hall I still in secret pine, U nless you’ll be my Valentine? S top a bit! a thought I’ve hit; A nd if you wont, in short, be mine, N o matter, love, if I am thine.
O say, then, dear possessor of my breast, Where’s now my boasted liberty and rest? ​Where the gay moments that I once have known O where the heart I fondly thought my own!
I scorn the beauties other eyes adore; The more I view them, I feel thy worth the more Unmov’d I hear them speak, or see them fair— I only think of thee, who art not there.
When from thy sight I waste a tedious day, A thousand schemes I form, or things to say; But when thy presence gives the time I seek, My heart’s so full—I wish—but cannot speak.
A heart there is, which I would woo— That heart belongs, dear maid, to you; Full long I’ve chas’d it, with regret, For I have never caught it yet; But by this Valentine, ’tis plain, That heart I now pursue again; May I by no repulse be crost, For if I lose it, I am lost.
Could you persuade the constant dove To leave his mate, inconstant prove, And lonely through the woodlands rove, I might deceive the maid I love; But ne’er till then will I agree To quit my love, to part with thee.
Love thee! yes, dear lovely maid, Thee I’ll love, and only thee; And, whatever cares invade, Happy in tby love of me.
Love thee! yes, with love replete Still for thee my heart shall glow, Till my pulse forgets to beat, Or the streams of life to flow.
​Yes, for ever to my heart, Dear and precious shalt thou be: Wilt thou, then, dear maid, impart Love to him, who lives for thee?
Thou innocent charmer, incline Thy ears to my ditty, I pray; Beware of the false Valentine, Who promises but to betray.
To-day will no doubt bring you, Miss, Of Valentines, may be, a score; Compare them, I pray, through with this, And read them attentively o’er.
I wish as a lover and friend, For friendship and love both should join, If they flatter, you then may depend, Not one is a true Valentine.
What matter their promises fair, If they to the truth don’t incline! Perhaps you’ll find none so sincere, As he who writes this Valentine.
Since first my heart with pleasure knew The power of faithful love for you, And made me only thine, I cannot ceasc to love thee less, But would returning love possess From thee, my Valentine.
Two questions I wish to propose. And answer both freely and truly; From Cupid the questions arose, So pray do not deem them unruly.
To love doth my fair one incline? Am I, too, her choice? O pray mention! I’ll be a true, fond Valentine, Well worthy my charmer’s attention.
​O who can tell the heart’s emotion? Who can well the power reveal? The painful, pleasing, soft commotion, The hopes, the fears which lovers feel?
How vainly I, whose bosom fraught With love, unchanging love, to thee, Can show its truth, or raise a thought That’s equal to its power in me!
What! though thou hadst some time ago A Valentine—what then? The dame of Ephesus, you know, Resolv’d to wed again.
The time of mourning hath expir’d, All sorrow then decline, And let another be admir’d— Another Valentine.
For three long months I’ve strove to hide What now I can no longer; Though silent grief has made me weak, My love, I find, is stronger. So, if your mind is like your form, You cruel, sure, can’t he, But deign to love a wretched man, Who lives alone for thee.
To please the ladies I do strive, For I’m the happiest man alive, When pleasure they receive. I therefore send this Valentine, And hope my verses, though not fine, Will satisfaction give. I do not boast the knack of rhyme, Nor is my poetry sublime, But true is every line: I love thee—’tis the honest truth— And, by the honour of a youth, I’ll be thy Valentine.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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