How heavenly was the poet’s doom, To breathe his spirit through a kiss, And lose within so sweet a tomb The trembling messenger of bliss! And, ah! his soul returned to feel That it _again_ could ravished be; For in the kiss that thou didst steal, His life and soul have fled to thee! MOORE. THE KISS. One kiss, dear maid, I said, and sighed; Your scorn the little boon denied. Ah, why refuse the blameless bliss? Can danger lurk within a kiss? Yon viewless wanderer of the vale, The spirit of the western gale, At morning’s break, at evening’s close, Inhales the sweetness of the rose, And hovers o’er th’ uninjured bloom, Sighing back the soft perfume. Her nectar-breathing kisses fling Vigor to the zephyr’s wing, And she the glitter of the dew Scatters on the rose’s hue. Bashful, lo! she bends her head, And darts a blush of deeper red. Too well those lovely lips disclose The triumphs of the opening rose: O fair! O graceful! bid them prove As passive to the breath of love! In tender accents, faint and low, Well pleased I hear the whispered “No!” The whispered “No!” how little meant, Sweet falsehood that endears consent! For on those lovely lips the while Dawns the soft relenting smile, And tempts, with feigned dissuasive coy, The gentle violence of the joy. COLERIDGE. TO A CHILD EMBRACING HIS MOTHER. Love thy mother, little one! Kiss and clasp her neck again: Hereafter she may have a son Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. Love thy mother, little one! Gaze upon her living eyes, And mirror back her love for thee: Hereafter thou mayst shudder sighs To meet them when they cannot see. Gaze upon her living eyes! Press her lips the while they glow With love that they have often told: Hereafter thou mayst press in woe And kiss them till thine own are cold. Press her lips the while they glow! Oh, revere her raven hair! Although it be not silver-gray, Too early death, led on by care, May snatch save one dear lock away. Oh, revere her raven hair! Pray for her at eve and morn, That Heaven may long the stroke defer; For thou mayst live the hour forlorn When thou wilt ask to die with her. Pray for her at eve and morn! THOMAS HOOD. KISSES. My heart is beating with all things that are, My blood is wild unrest; With what a passion pants yon eager star Upon the water’s breast! Clasped in the air’s soft arms the world doth sleep; Asleep its moving seas, its humming lands; With what a hungry lip the ocean deep Lappeth forever the white-breasted sands! What love is in the moon’s eternal eyes, Leaning unto the earth from out the midnight skies!