THE VALENTINE
What shall we send the baby?
A picture of cherub or flower,
Of garlands of grasses, may be,
Or the sun looking out of a shower?
A picture of cherub or flower,
Of garlands of grasses, may be,
Or the sun looking out of a shower?
But no flower that blows is so sweet
As she, with her smile grown bolder,
And no cherub's grace so complete,
Even with wings at the shoulder.
As she, with her smile grown bolder,
And no cherub's grace so complete,
Even with wings at the shoulder.
So,—lean your face down while I speak,
We will send the baby just this,—
Though 'twas stolen first from your cheek,
St. Valentine sends her a kiss.
We will send the baby just this,—
Though 'twas stolen first from your cheek,
St. Valentine sends her a kiss.
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