ONCE more, my muse, 'tis time to be invoking The offices of good St. Valentine. This year 'tis Phyllis' name that I am yoking In verse with mine. Last year it was a ballad to Miranda, The year before a triolet to Dot. No doubt I seem a fickle goose -- or gander -- But I am not. I hesitate to contemplate the number Of female names I've fashioned to my rhyme, Whene'er I rouse my weary muse from slumber About this time. I've breathed my love for Dolly, Grace and Cora; In other years I've run to Nell and Belle. How many times I've yearned for Bess and Dora I cannot tell. Now in the charms of Phyllis I am basking, And all the love I bear her must be told. For if it's not, my Mary will be asking If I've grown cold. The secret's out! The name's imaginary; I never knew a "Phyllis" in my life. All names are merely pseudonyms for "Mary," And she's my wife. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FABLE: THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL by RALPH WALDO EMERSON A WINTER PIECE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE FADED VIOLET by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH LI HUA'S MESSENGER by PETER BETHANIS RHOECUS by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN LENIN by VALERY YAKOVLEVICH BRYUSOV |