Hail Bishop Valentine! whose day this is; All the air is thy diocese, And all the chirping choristers And other birds are thy parishioners: Thou marryest ever year The lyric lark and the grave whispering dove; The sparrow that neglects his life for love, The household bird with the red stomarcher; Celebrations Thous mak'st the blackbird speed as soon, As doth the goldfinch or the halcyon . . . This day more cheerfully than ever shine, This day which might inflame thyself, old Valentine!