A Valentine's Song

MOTLEY I count the only wear
That suits, in this mixed world, the truly wise,
Who boldly smile upon despair
And shake their bells in Grandam Grundy's eyes.
Singers should sing with such a goodly cheer
That the bare listening should make strong like wine,
At this unruly time of year,
The Feast of Valentine.

We do not now parade our "oughts"
And "shoulds" and motives and beliefs in God.
Their life lies all indoors; sad thoughts
Must keep the house, while gay thoughts go abroad,
Within we hold the wake for hopes deceased;
But in the public streets, in wind or sun,
Keep open, at the annual feast,
The puppet-booth of fun.

Our powers, perhaps, are small to please,
But even negro-songs and castanettes,
Old jokes and hackneyed repartees
Are more than the parade of vain regrets.
Let Jacques stand Wert(h)ering by the wounded deer -
We shall make merry, honest friends of mine,
At this unruly time of year,
The Feast of Valentine.

I know how, day by weary day,
Hope fades, love fades, a thousand pleasures fade.
I have not trudged in vain that way
On which life's daylight darkens, shade by shade.
And still, with hopes decreasing, griefs increased,
Still, with what wit I have shall I, for one,
Keep open, at the annual feast,
The puppet-booth of fun.

I care not if the wit be poor,
The old worn motley stained with rain and tears,
If but the courage still endure
That filled and strengthened hope in earlier years;
If still, with friends averted, fate severe,
A glad, untainted cheerfulness be mine
To greet the unruly time of year,
The Feast of Valentine.

Priest, I am none of thine, and see
In the perspective of still hopeful youth
That Truth shall triumph over thee -
Truth to one's self - I know no other truth.
I see strange days for thee and thine, O priest,
And how your doctrines, fallen one by one,
Shall furnish at the annual feast
The puppet-booth of fun.

Stand on your putrid ruins - stand,
White neck-clothed bigot, fixedly the same,
Cruel with all things but the hand,
Inquisitor in all things but the name.
Back, minister of Christ and source of fear -
We cherish freedom - back with thee and thine
From this unruly time of year,
The Feast of Valentine.

Blood thou mayest spare; but what of tears?
But what of riven households, broken faith -
Bywords that cling through all men's years
And drag them surely down to shame and death?
Stand back, O cruel man, O foe of youth,
And let such men as hearken not thy voice
Press freely up the road to truth,
The King's highway of choice.

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Comments (20)

..............excellent write...and perfect for the season ★
Stevenson appears to be a man who prefers a lusty life of drinking, adventure, and laughter- - with some pirates thrown in for excitement- - and he has chosen the perfect phrase for his predilection- - - - - - - -Keep open, at the annual feast, The puppet-booth of fun.
Love in February! Everyone is talking about love in February! February is the month of St. Valentine's Day, Which is celebrated in memory of that saint, Who sacrificed his life for the union of lovers! Every religion preaches about love for best life! Love is selfless act of empathy for others feeling Not an easy job to practise in real life in the world! So, lovers are warned against pitfalls in real life. When this is so, who can practise love in the world? One who is strong, brave, capable of standing on One's own leg only can practise love to support the Beloved through thick and thin in life till the end...! Other romantic loiterers can only send gifts, greetings And spend happy time in celebrating St. Valentine Day!
Whoever gave this effortlessly brilliant poem a six, deserves heavy starch. It is almost too convincing in its call to abandon. But the rhyming is astonishingly casual and fresh. Roll over, Stevenson, the novelist. And 'the puppet-booth of fun' is a bully refrain, indeed. Many might not catch the sub-text, here, I fear.
The flow of this beautifully crafted story poem is superb.
See More