It comforts me in this one thought to dwell, That I subdued me to my father’s will; Because the kiss he gave me, ere I fell, Sweetens the spirit still. TENNYSON: _Dream of Fair Women_. THE MAY QUEEN. I have been wild and wayward, but you’ll forgive me now; You’ll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go; Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild; You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child. TENNYSON. ENOCH ARDEN. My children, too! must I not speak to these? They know me not; I should betray myself. Never; no father’s kiss for me,—the girl So like her mother, and the boy, my son. TENNYSON. ŒNONE. Oh, mother, hear me yet before I die! Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times, In this green valley, under this green hill, Ev’n on this hand, and sitting on this stone? Sealed it with kisses? watered it with tears? TENNYSON. QUARREL AND RECONCILIATION. As through the land at eve we went, And plucked the ripened ears, We fell out, my wife and I, Oh, we fell out, I know not why, And kissed again with tears. For when we came where lies the child We lost in other years, There above the little grave, Oh, there above the little grave We kissed again with tears. TENNYSON: _Princess_. EVANGELINE. Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would have spoken. Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. LONGFELLOW. OVER THE STARRY WAY. Gone to sleep with the tender smile Froze on her silent lips By the farewell kiss of the angel Death, Like the last fair bud of a faded wreath Whose bloom the white frost nips. DEATH OF AN INFANT. Oh, fairest flower, no sooner blown but blasted, Soft silken primrose fading timelessly, Summer’s chief honor, if thou hadst outlasted Bleak Winter’s force that made thy blossom dry; For he being amorous on that lovely dye That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss, But killed, alas, and then bewailed his fatal bliss. MILTON. ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND’S CHILD. If Death More near approaches, meditates, and clasps Even now some dearer, more reluctant hand, God, strengthen Thou my faith, that I may see That ’tis Thine angel, who, with loving haste, Unto the service of the inner shrine Doth waken Thy beloved with a kiss. LOWELL. HIGHLAND MARY.