The Morrow of Saint Valentine

I did a lot of research trying to capture an old english feel.

Twas a solid fortnight ago
In the morrow of Saint Valentine
That thou took Cupid's soul arrow
In twi with it, my love divine
And with it thou replaced my joy
With the rot and decay of thine
Thou were the candle of my strife
Our born star not allowed to shine
What once reached mountain's peaks
Rests cumbersomely with the swine
Tis a heart's pain without sweet relent
Too grand to seek words to define
I kneel in the blood of my own
Weeping amongst this crimson shrine
Shall never the angels speak again
Unto my eve of Saint Valentine