Before your gate from dawn to late
The cheery postman whistles;
And every mail augments the tale
Of amorous epistles

That jingle “heart” with “part” and “dart,”
Nor fail to mention Cupid;
That rhyme “above” and “love” and “dove”—
And other things as stupid.

I pray you, spurn those lines that burn,
Despite their foolish pleading.
To flame consign each Valentine—
Except the one you're reading.

And scorn the host that sent per post
Those missives, poor and shoddy.
“They love you, too?”—Of course they do!
For so does everybody!

But, just as sure as snows are pure
And shoes are made of leather,
I do adore and love you more
Than all the rest together!