A VALENTINE.
I send my heart across the years to you!With all its humanness and all its waste;With all that yet is tender and is true,Though time has triumphed and youth’s hope disgraced.What though the snows are gathered on the ground,And bare the bough within the aching chill?I think of you—and in my ear a soundBreaks, and enraptures with its April thrill!I hear the trailing hem of laggard Spring,And daffodils seem leaning to my hand,And on the air I glimpse the eager wingOf birds that wander from a softer land.And I forget—forget the world of loss,The drift and change of things, the pain of age:For dreams have turned to gold life’s gifts of dross;A sweetness lingers on time’s yellowed page.I send my heart across the years to youAs missive of the season’s hallowed day,To you who make the heavens seem so blue—Make love forget its livery’s grown gray:—Maurice Weyland.
I send my heart across the years to you!With all its humanness and all its waste;With all that yet is tender and is true,Though time has triumphed and youth’s hope disgraced.What though the snows are gathered on the ground,And bare the bough within the aching chill?I think of you—and in my ear a soundBreaks, and enraptures with its April thrill!I hear the trailing hem of laggard Spring,And daffodils seem leaning to my hand,And on the air I glimpse the eager wingOf birds that wander from a softer land.And I forget—forget the world of loss,The drift and change of things, the pain of age:For dreams have turned to gold life’s gifts of dross;A sweetness lingers on time’s yellowed page.I send my heart across the years to youAs missive of the season’s hallowed day,To you who make the heavens seem so blue—Make love forget its livery’s grown gray:—Maurice Weyland.
I send my heart across the years to you!With all its humanness and all its waste;With all that yet is tender and is true,Though time has triumphed and youth’s hope disgraced.
I send my heart across the years to you!
With all its humanness and all its waste;
With all that yet is tender and is true,
Though time has triumphed and youth’s hope disgraced.
What though the snows are gathered on the ground,And bare the bough within the aching chill?I think of you—and in my ear a soundBreaks, and enraptures with its April thrill!
What though the snows are gathered on the ground,
And bare the bough within the aching chill?
I think of you—and in my ear a sound
Breaks, and enraptures with its April thrill!
I hear the trailing hem of laggard Spring,And daffodils seem leaning to my hand,And on the air I glimpse the eager wingOf birds that wander from a softer land.
I hear the trailing hem of laggard Spring,
And daffodils seem leaning to my hand,
And on the air I glimpse the eager wing
Of birds that wander from a softer land.
And I forget—forget the world of loss,The drift and change of things, the pain of age:For dreams have turned to gold life’s gifts of dross;A sweetness lingers on time’s yellowed page.
And I forget—forget the world of loss,
The drift and change of things, the pain of age:
For dreams have turned to gold life’s gifts of dross;
A sweetness lingers on time’s yellowed page.
I send my heart across the years to youAs missive of the season’s hallowed day,To you who make the heavens seem so blue—Make love forget its livery’s grown gray:
I send my heart across the years to you
As missive of the season’s hallowed day,
To you who make the heavens seem so blue—
Make love forget its livery’s grown gray:
—Maurice Weyland.
—Maurice Weyland.