For the fourteenth of February

No popular respect will I omit
To do the honour on this happy day,
When every loyal lover tasks his wit
His simple truth in studious rhymes to pay,
And to his mistress dear his hopes convey.
Rather thou knowest I would still outrun
All calendars with Love's—whose date alway
Thy bright eyes govern better than the sun—
For with thy favour was my life begun;
And still I reckon on from smiles to smiles,
And not by summers, for I thrive on none
But those thy cheerful countenance compiles:
O! if it be to choose and call thee mine,
Love, thou art every day my Valentine.
Thomas Hood (1799-1845)