William Blake had it right

Sun, cirrus, and fog aglow

As Valentine’s Day slipped toward Valentine’s Night, is it any wonder that poetry should be sought as blissful abandon?

The sun descending in the west,

Last light begins Valentine’s Night

The evening star does shine;

The birds are silent in their nest

And I must seek for mine.

Morning moonset

The moon, like a flower

The moon in a cirrus gauze

In heaven’s high bower,

The moon and thin cirrus over the Pacific

With silent delight

Pelicans on the wing, as the moon drifts into dawn

Sits and smiles on the night.

William Blake, 1757—1827