Thursday, February 14, 2008


Cupid and My Campaspe

Cupid and my Campaspe played
At cards for kisses; Cupid payed.
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,
His mother's doves and team of sparrows,
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lips, the rose
Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how),
With these the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin:
At last he set her both his eyes;
She won, and Cupid blind doth rise.
  Oh Love! has she done this to thee?
  What shall, alas, become of me?

John Lyly, 1632


A Red, Red Rose

O my luve's like a red, red rose,
  That's newly sprung in June;
Oh my luve's like the melodie
  That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
  So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
  Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
  And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
O I will love thee still, my dear,
  While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve,
  And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
  Though it were ten thousand mile.

Robert Burns, 1796


One Perfect Rose

A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
  All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet--
  One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret;
  "My fragile leaves," it said, "his heart enclose."
Love long has taken for his amulet
  One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet
  One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
  One perfect rose.

Dorothy Parker, 1926

Happy Valentine's Day. Pick your mood: infatuation, true love, or cynicism. Guess which one I'm going with today?

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