There’s a formal kiss of fashion, And a burning kiss of passion, A father’s kiss, A mother’s kiss, And a sister’s kiss to move; There’s a traitor’s kiss of gold, Like a serpent’s clammy fold, A first kiss, A stolen kiss, And the thrilling kiss of love; A meeting kiss, A maiden kiss, A kiss when fond hearts sever, But the saddest kiss On earth is this— A kiss to part forever. There is the first kiss of love: When a youth and maid of demeanor gay, But still unversed in impassioned speech, Are seen to return from their stroll some day With a glorified look in the face of each— A look as of mingled life-tides set Hence evermore to a common goal— You may be sure that their lips have met In that kiss which compasseth soul with soul. Moore sings of a lover who taught his sweetheart how to kiss in the dark, and chides her afterwards for her dullness in learning the lesson. “Cease, cease,” the blushing girl replied, And in her milky arms she caught me; “How can you thus your pupil chide? You know _’twas in the dark_ you taught me!” During the late rebellion, so much kissing had to be done on the part of the soldiers in bidding adieu to their female friends that an ingenious officer reduced the operation to three motions. First motion: Bend the right knee, straighten the left, bring the head on a line with the piece; at the same time extend the arms and clasp the cheeks of the piece firmly in both hands. Second motion: Bend the body slightly forward, pucker the mouth slightly, and apply the lips smartly to the muzzle mouldings. Third motion: Break off promptly in both legs to escape the jarring or injury should the piece recoil. There is the pleasing punishment of a kiss. In an anonymous poem, a lover tells what he would do to his sweetheart if she offended him; he would whip her with a feather, give her a cross of pearl, and smother her with roses. And if she dared her _lips_ to pout, Like many pert young misses, I’d wind my arm her waist about And punish her with kisses. One of the sweetest poems on the subject of a kiss is after Catullus, the Roman poet: Kiss me softly, and speak to me low, Malice has ever a vigilant ear; What if Malice were lurking near? Kiss me, dear! Kiss me softly, and speak to me low.