Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ST. VALENTINE'S DAY, by HENRY KING (1592-1669)

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ST. VALENTINE'S DAY, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Now that each feather'd chorister doth sing
Last Line: Nor search the grave for my lost valentine.
Subject(s): Holidays; Love - Loss Of; Valentine's Day

Now that each feather'd chorister doth sing
The glad approaches of the welcome Spring:
Now Phoebus darts forth his more early beam
And dips it later in the curled stream,
I should to custom prove a retrograde
Did I still dote upon my sullen shade.

Oft have the seasons finish'd and begun;
Days into months, those into years have run,
Since my cross stars and inauspicious fate
Doom'd me to linger here without my mate
Whose loss ere since befrosting my desire,
Left me an Altar without gift or fire.

I therefore could have wish'd for your own sake
That Fortune had design'd a nobler stake
For you to draw, than one whose fading day
Like to a dedicated taper lay
Within a tomb, and long burnt out in vain,
Since nothing there saw better by the flame.

Yet since you like your chance, I must not try
To mar it through my incapacity.
I here make title to it, and proclaim
How much you honour me to wear my name;
Who can no form of gratitude devise,
But offer up myself your sacrifice.

Hail, then, my worthy lot! and may each morn
Successive springs of joy to you be born:
May your content ne'er wane until my heart
Grown bankrupt, wants good wishes to impart.
Henceforth I need not make the dust my shrine,
Nor search the grave for my lost Valentine.

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