Proudly cried a golden orange On the breezy shore: “Certainly nowhere happiness Is found to equal mine.” Answered a green apple From its apple tree: “Fool to boast, golden orange, On the breezy shore; For happiness such as I’ve found, Its like cannot be seen.” Then said the breezy meadow, As yet untouched by scythe: “Too conceited, little apple, That speech of thine, meseems, For happiness such as I’ve found, Its like cannot be seen.” Then spake a lovely maiden, Unsullied by a kiss: “Thou pratest folly, grass-plot, Instead of sooth, I ween, For happiness such as I’ve found Its like cannot be seen.” But a handsome lad made answer To every speech they made; “You’re mad, all mad, to utter Such words as I’ve just heard, For no one in the universe Can be so blest as I.” “Golden orange by the breezy Shore I pluck thee now. Apple, from thy apple tree To-day I’ll shake thee down. Grass-plot, I’ll mow thee level With my scythe-strokes to-day. Maiden, as yet unsullied To-day I’ll kiss thy lips.” W. F. H. In another Servian lay, the lover sings that he would rather kiss his sweetheart than be the Sultan’s guest. In Spain the lover wishes he were the water-cooler so that he might kiss his darling’s lips when she is drinking: Arcarrasa de tu casa, Chiquiya, quisiera ser, Para besarte los labios Quando fueras á beber. The Greeks say that the kiss is “the key to Paradise”; yea, it is Paradise itself, declares Wergeland: Nay, bride, thine embrace more than heav’n I prize; Oh, kiss me once more that to heav’n I rise. W. F. H. The kiss is a preservation against every ill. “No ill-luck can betide me when she bestows on me a kiss,” sings the old trouvère, Colin Muset: Se de li ai un douz baisier Ne me porroit nus mals venir. It gives health and strength, adds Heine: Yet could I kiss thee, O my soul, Then straightway I should be made whole. W. F. H. It carries life with it; it even bestows the gift of eternal youth--if one can believe the words of the Duke of Anhalt the minnesinger: Your mouth is crimson; over its sweet portal A kindly Genius seems for ever flowing. If on that mouth a kiss I were bestowing, Methinks I should in sooth become immortal. W. F. H. The Persians, too, had the same idea. The jovial Hafiz laments that “sour wisdom added to old age and virtue” has laid waste his strength, but a remedy is to be found for these: “Come and drink,” the maiden whispered, “Sin and sweetness, youthful folly, Lovingly from lips of crimson, From my bosom’s lily chalice, And live on with strength redoubled.” W. F. H.