lirik lagu richard mitchley - a valentines song by robert louis stevenson
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 decеased;
but in the public streets, in wind or sun
keep open, at thе 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
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