Time was, sweet dame (when broidered coats were smart, And doublets, puffed with finest textured lace, On manly fronts found proper resting-place), That valentines played friendship's kindly part In all sincerity, and when the heart Of earnest love might feel it no disgrace In verses neat its fondest hopes to trace, Or spell its servitude with modest art. Then gallantry was deemed no foppish thing Fit only for the perfumed parlor knight; But men who fought to keep their honor bright Were proud to serve My Lady and to bring The homage of fair words and gentleness To charm her moods with friendship's fine caress. Thus would I, though I fear my words be trite, The old example emulate to-day, And in this humble, halting sonnet pray That I may find some favor in your sight. My love shall minister to your delight, Or serve you in misfortune's sad delay, And guard you from all evil, come what may, And be to you all that is requisite. My strength you shall command in every sense, Nor will I ask a haughty bondsman's fee; I 'll ask that you be this—true heart to me, With, now and then, a smile for recompense. Ah, may I in your answer, sweet, divine That you will be, indeed, my valentine? |