CLAIRINELLE'S VALENTINE.
The maiden I love is the fairest on earth,
Her laugh is the clear, joyous music of mirth;
I think of the angels whenever she sings—
She's a seraph from Heaven, but folding her wings.
The least little act that she doeth is kind;
Her goodness all springs from a beautiful mind.
I love her much more than I know how to tell;
Let her do what she will, it is always done well:
Her voice is the murmur the mild zephyr makes