< Poems (Victor)
TO MY VALENTINE.
Vexed with the day's long toil of thought,
I fly to where it cometh not;
I ope my door—a fine perfume
Pervades the quiet of my room.
A glance—I cry out with delight
"The Saint! the Saint!" O blessed sprite,
Thrice welcome when you come with flowers
To sweeten my reposeful hours!
February 14, 1888.
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