Tho’ they frown may be keen as the blast of the sky
Tho’ the ice is less cold than the glance of thine eye
Tho’ thy breast where affection with fervour should glow
Is more frozen more fair than the soft falling snow
Yet hope rises fondly to bid me complain
’Tis the morning of spring, and it wakes her again.
She says tho’ thy bosom be cold as the snow
The germen of love it may foster below
That the coldness which chills in thine eye maybe won
To sparkle and melt in the rays of the sun
That the breath of fond love o’er the blast may prevail
Till its keenness be lost in the warmth of the gale.
Then one sunny ray to thy suitor dispense —
’Tis St Valentines morn, and the change should commence.
January 14th 1816