They had not spoken, but they felt allured, As if their souls and lips each other beckoned, Which, being joined, like swarming bees they clung-- Their hearts the flowers from whence the honey sprung. The kiss of love is the exultant message of the longing of love, love eternally young, the burning prayer of hot desire, which is born on the lovers’ lips, and “rises,” as Charles Fuster has said, “up to the blue sky from the green plains,” like a tender, trembling thank-offering. Que tous les cœurs soient apaisés Et toutes les lèvres ouvertes, Qu’un frémissement de baisers Monte au ciel bleu des plaines vertes! The love kiss, rich in promise, bestows an intoxicating feeling of infinite happiness, courage, and youth, and therefore surpasses all other earthly joys in sublimity--at any rate all poets say so--and no one has expressed it in more exquisite and choicer words than Alfred de Musset in his celebrated sonnet on Tizianello: Beatrix Donato was the soft sweet name Of her whose earthly form was shaped so fair; A faithful heart lay in her breast’s white frame, Her spotless body held a mind most rare. The son of Titian, for her deathless fame, Painted this portrait, witness of love’s care, And from that day renounced his art’s high claim, Loth that another dame his skill should share. Stranger, if in your heart love doth abide, Gaze on my lady’s picture ere you chide. Say if perchance your lady’s fair as this. Then mark how poor a thing is fame on earth; Grand as this portrait is, it is not worth-- Believe me on my oath--the model’s kiss. W. F. H. Thus even the highest work of art, yea, the loftiest reputation, is nothing in comparison with the passionate kiss of a woman one loves. This is what life has taught Musset, and a half melancholy sigh rings through his exultation over the omnipotence of love. In turning to the more _naïve_ speech of popular poetry, we find in a German _Schnaderhüpfel_ (Improvisation) a corresponding homage to the kiss as the noblest thing in the world: My sweetheart’s poor, But fair to behold. What use were wealth? I cannot kiss gold. W. F. H. And we all yearn for kisses and we all seek them; it is idle to struggle against this passion. No one can evade the omnipotence of the kiss, the best resolutions, the most solemn oaths, are of no avail. A pretty little Servian folk-song treats of a young girl who swore too hastily. Yestreen swore a maiden fair, Ne’er again I’ll wear a garland, Ne’er again I’ll wear a garland, Wine again I’ll never drink, Never more I’ll kiss a laddie.