No popular respect will I omit To do thee honor 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 favor 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 complies:
Oh! if it be to choose and call thee mine,
Love, thou art every day my Valentine.
