Valentine, by an Aged Lover

Some ladies like a man whose hair
Is bright as threads of gold,
Some the dark youth and some the fair,

But few the man that's old.
My locks were jetty black in May,
But latest autumn makes them grey.
Where is the maiden that will twine
Round dodder'd oak a lithe woodbine.
And choose an old man for her valentine '?
'Twere vain to say thou shalt be free

To merry be or grave ;
Better an old man's darling be,

Than be a young man's slave.
'Twere vain to talk of common sense.
And lessons of experience ;
For tears that in the dim eye shine.
And trace the wrinkle's furrow'd line.
Were never shed by winsome valentine.

As the dew of the morning bestars every blade,
But ere noon is no more on the plain.

Yet abides in the bell of the flower in the shade
Till dew comes at evening again.
So the feelings of youth, the fond faith of the heart,

In manhood dry up like the dew.
Oh ! let them survive in the soul's better part,
Till death shall the morning renew.