Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look for wine. BEN JONSON. FROM ANACREON. The shadowy grove, Where, in the tempting guise of love, Reclining sleeps some witching maid, Whose sunny charms, but half displayed, Blush through the bower, that, closely twined, Excludes the kisses of the wind. _Ode 59._ LOVE’S PHILOSOPHY. The fountains mingle with the river, And the rivers with the ocean, The winds of heaven mix forever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another’s being mingle— Why not I with thine? See the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another; No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother: And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea; What are all these kissings worth, If thou kiss not me? SHELLEY. FROM PLATO. Kissing Helena, together With my kiss, my soul beside it Came to my lips, and there I kept it,— For the poor thing had wandered thither, To follow where the kiss should guide it; Oh, cruel I, to intercept it! SHELLEY. FROM “THE LOVER’S CREED.” I believe if I should die, And you should kiss my eyelids when I lie Cold, dead, and dumb to all the world contains, The folded orbs would open at your breath, And, from its exile in the Isles of Death, Life would come gladly back along my veins. NATURE’S MINISTRATIONS. Nature’s voice Bids thee hie fieldward and rejoice; She calls thee from unhallowed mirth To walk with beauty o’er the earth; Proudly she calls thee forth, and now Prints blandest kisses on thy brow; On lip, on cheek, on bosom bare, She pours the balmy morning air. MOTHERWELL. “GENTLEST OF MY FRIENDS.” The branches of the trees Bend down thy touch to meet, The clover-blossoms in the grass Rise up to kiss thy feet. LONGFELLOW. THE RELEASED CAPTIVE. The hour which back to summer’s light Calls the worn captive, with the gentle kiss Of winds, and gush of waters, and the sight Of the green earth. MRS. HEMANS. FROM “PHILASTER.” Let me love lightning, let me be embraced And kissed by scorpions, or adore the eyes Of basilisks, rather than trust the tongues Of hell-bred women. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. FROM “THE TRAITOR.” Does not That death’s head look most temptingly? the worms Have kissed the lips off. SHIRLEY. FROM “THE DYING SOLDIER.”