| |
| THE BRANCHES creaked on the garret roof, | |
| And the snow blew in at the eaves, | |
| When I found a hymn-book, tattered and torn, | |
| And turned its moldering leaves. | |
| And lo! in its yellowing pages lay | 5 |
| Grandmother’s valentine tucked away. | |
| |
| Hearts and roses together twined, | |
| And sweet little Cupids quaint, | |
| The gilt from the hearts was worn away, | |
| And the pink of the roses faint, | 10 |
| And the Cupids’ faces were blurred and dim, | |
| But it marked the place of her favorite hymn. | |
| |
| Before me rose on the dusty floor | |
| The ghost of a slender maid, | |
| Like the portrait hung on the parlor wall, | 15 |
| In a gown of flowered brocade, | |
| And ivory laces, as fine as air, | |
| And a diamond star in her powdered hair. | |
| |
| A handsome gallant beside her bent | |
| In the country dress of old, | 20 |
| He wore a ring with a ruby set | |
| And a waistcoat flowered with gold, | |
| Ruffled wrists and a ribboned queue, | |
| Silver buckles and coat of blue. | |
| |
| “What hast thou shut in thy lily hand | 25 |
| With a tassel of azure tied?” | |
| “A valentine left on my window sill | |
| In the gray of the dawn,” she cried, | |
| “And I love the lover who rode so far | |
| In the deep snows, under the morning star.” | 30 |
| |
| Then he pressed his arm to her rounded waist | |
| And his lips to her rosy ear: | |
| “Oh, lean thy head to my breast, I pray, | |
| And I’ll tell thee a secret dear! | |
| It was I who rode with the valentine | 35 |
| So fast and so far—and thou art mine!” | |
| |
| A mouse ran over the broken boards, | |
| Behold! when I looked again, | |
| The squire in the gay blue coat | |
| And the maid with the silken train. | 40 |
| There was nothing there but the shadows tall | |
| And the cobwebs long on the windy wall. | |
| |
| But I dropped a tear on the musty book | |
| And tenderly laid it down | |
| With the treasure, deep in the cedar chest, | 45 |
| In the folds of a faded gown, | |
| And left it there in the lavender leaves | |
| And ashes of roses, under the eaves. | |
| |
| For I thought of a youth with soft brown eyes | |
| And how I had vexed him sore. | 50 |
| The dim, dead lovers—they touched my heart, | |
| And so I was cold no more; | |
| For love is the same as long ago, | |
| Grandmother’s valentine told me so. | |
| |
