THE TRYST. LEEPING, I dreamed that thou wast mine, Waking, this mid and moonlight night, The joy, and know not if I wake. EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. IN A GONDOLA. SHE SINGS. I. HE moth's kiss, first! Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure, this eve, How my face, your flower, had pursed Its petals up; so, here and there You brush it, till I grow aware Who wants me, and wide ope I burst. II. The bee's kiss, now! Kiss me as if you entered gay ROBERT BROWNING. THE DIAL. NLY when Summer's sun is high, And the blue is broad in the summer sky, The shadows on the dial face Tell of day's race. Only when so we sit together, And loving eyes make pleasant weather, Live I-my soul in sunny blisses Counts life by kisses. EDWIN ARNOLD. H W A KISS. I. WEET mouth! Oh let me take One draught from that delicious cup! - That burns me up! II. Sweet breath! all flowers that are, Within that darling frame must bloom; My heart revives so at the rare Divine perfume! III. Nay, 'tis a dear deceit, A drunkard's cup that mouth of thine; That fragrance fine! |