The literature of kissing | Project Gutenberg

THE KISS IN POETRY.

SONNET UPON A STOLEN KISS.

Now gentle Sleep hath closèd up those eyes

Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe;

And free access unto that sweet lip lies,

From whence I long the rosy breath to draw.

Methinks no wrong it were if I should steal,

From those two melting rubies, one poor kiss;

None sees the theft that would the theft reveal,

Nor rob I her of aught that she can miss:

Nay, should I twenty kisses take away,

There would be little sign I would do so;

Why then should I this robbery delay?

Oh! she may wake, and therewith angry grow!

Well, if she do, I’ll back restore that one,

And twenty hundred thousand more for loan.

George Wither.

THE KISS—A DIALOGUE.

1. Among thy fancies, tell me this:

What is the thing we call a kiss?

2. I shall resolve ye what it is:

It is a creature born and bred

Between the lips, all cherry red;

By love and warm desires fed;

Chor. And makes more soft the bridal bed.

It is an active flame that flies

First to the babies of the eyes,

And charms them there with lullabies;

Chor. And stills the bride too when she cries:

Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear,

It frisks, and flies,—now here, now there;

’Tis now far off, and then ’tis near;

Chor. And here, and there, and everywhere.

1. Has it a speaking virtue?—2. Yes.

1. How speaks it, say?—2. Do you but this,

Part your joined lips, then speaks your kiss;

Chor. And this love’s sweetest language is.

1. Has it a body?—2. Ay, and wings,

With thousand rare encolorings;

And as it flies, it gently sings,

Chor. Love honey yields, but never stings.

Robert Herrick.

THE SIRENS’ SONG.

Steer hither, steer your wingèd pines,

All beaten mariners:

Here lie undiscovered mines

A prey to passengers;

Perfumes far sweeter than the best

Which make the phœnix urn and nest;

Fear not your ships,

Nor any to oppose you save our lips;

But come on shore,

Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more.

For swelling waves, our panting breasts,

Where never storms arise,

Exchange; and be awhile our guests;

For stars, gaze on our eyes;

The compass, Love shall hourly sing,

And, as he goes about the ring,

We will not miss

To tell each point he nameth with a kiss.

Browne: Inner Temple Masque.

THE KISS.

Oh that a joy so soon should waste!

Or so sweet a bliss

As a kiss

Might not forever last!

So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious,

The dew that lies on roses,

When the morn herself discloses,

Is not so precious.

Oh, rather than I would it smother,

Were I to taste such another,

It should be my wishing

That I might die kissing.

Ben Jonson.

Thou more than most sweet glove,

Unto my more sweet love,

Suffer me to store with kisses

This empty lodging that now misses

The pure rosy hand that wore thee,

Whiter than the kid that bore thee.

Thou art soft, but that was softer;

Cupid’s self hath kissed it ofter

Than e’er he did his mother’s doves,

Supposing her the queen of loves,

That was thy mistress,

Best of gloves.

Ben Jonson.

TO CHARIS.

[Begging another kiss, on condition of mending the former.]

For Love’s sake, kiss me once again;

I long, and should not beg in vain;

Here’s none to spy or see:

Why do you doubt or stay?

I’ll taste as lightly as the bee,

That doth but touch his flower and flies away.

Once more, and, faith, I will be gone:

Can he that loves ask less than one?

Nay, you may err in this,

And all your bounty wrong:

This could be called but half a kiss;

What we’ve but once to do, we should do long.

I will but mend the last, and tell

Where, how, it would have relished well;

Join lip to lip, and try;

Each suck the other’s breath,

And, whilst our tongues perplexed lie,

Let who will think us dead, or wish our death.

Ben Jonson.

THE PARTING KISS.

One kind kiss before we part,

Drop a tear, and bid adieu:

Though we sever, my fond heart,

Till we meet, shall pant for you.

Yet, yet weep not so, my love,

Let me kiss that falling tear:

Though my body must remove,

All my soul will still be here.

All my soul, and all my heart,

And every wish shall pant for you;

One kind kiss, then, ere we part,

Drop a tear, and bid adieu.

Dodsley.

YIELDING TO TEMPTATION.

What a rout do you make for a single sweet kiss!

I seized it, ’tis true, and I ne’er shall repent it.

May he ne’er enjoy one who shall think ’twas amiss;

But for me, I thank dear Cytherea who sent it.

You may pout, and look prettily cross; but, I pray,

What business so near to my lips had your cheek?

If you will put temptation so pat in one’s way,

Saints, resist if you can; but for me, I’m too weak.

But come, dearest Delia, our quarrel let’s end;

Nor will I by force, what you gave not, retain.

By allowing the kiss I’m forever your friend;

If you say that I stole it,—why, take it again.

Horace Walpole.

INES SENT A KISS TO ME.

[From the Spanish of Silvestre.]

Ines sent a kiss to me,

While we danced upon the green:

Let that kiss a blessing be,

And conceal no woes unseen.

How I dared I know not now,—

While we danced, I gently said,

Smiling, “Give me, lovely maid,

Give me one sweet kiss!”—when, lo!

Gathering blushes robed her brow,

And, with love and fear afraid,

Thus she spoke: “I’ll send the kiss

In a calmer day of bliss.”

Then I cried, “Dear maid! what day

Can be half so sweet as this?

Throw not hopes and joys away;

Send, oh, send the promised kiss!

Can so bright a gift be mine,

Bought without a pang of pain?

’Tis perchance a ray divine,

Darker night to bring again.

“Could I dwell on such a thought,

I of very joy should die;

Naught of earth’s enjoyments, naught,

Could be like that ecstasy.

I will pay her interest meet,

When her lips shall breathe on me,

And for every kiss so sweet

Give her many more than three.”

THE WANDERING KNIGHT’S SONG.

[From the Spanish.]

My ornaments are arms,

My pastime is in war,

My bed is cold upon the wold,

My lamp yon star.

My journeyings are long,

My slumbers short and broken;

From hill to hill I wander still,

Kissing thy token.

I ride from land to land,

I sail from sea to sea:

Some day more kind I fate may find,

Some night kiss thee!

THE COCK AND THE FOX.

[From the Fables of La Fontaine.]

Upon a tree there mounted guard

A veteran cock, adroit and cunning;

When to the roots a fox up running

Spoke thus, in tones of kind regard:

“Our quarrel, brother, ’s at an end;

Henceforth I hope to live your friend;

For peace now reigns

Throughout the animals’ domains.

I bear the news. Come down, I pray,

And give me the embrace fraternal;

And please, my brother, don’t delay:

So much the tidings do concern all,

That I must spread them far to-day.

Now you and yours can take your walks

Without a fear or thought of hawks;

And should you clash with them or others,

In us you’ll find the best of brothers;—

For which you may, this joyful night,

Your merry bonfires light.

But, first, let’s seal the bliss

With one fraternal kiss.”

“Good friend,” the cock replied, “upon my word,

A better thing I never heard;

And doubly I rejoice

To hear it from your voice:

And, really, there must be something in it,

For yonder come two greyhounds, who, I flatter

Myself, are couriers on this very matter;

They come so fast, they’ll be here in a minute.

I’ll down, and all of us will seal the blessing

With general kissing and caressing.”

“Adieu,” said fox; “my errand’s pressing;

I’ll hurry on my way,

And we’ll rejoice some other day.”

So off the fellow scampered, quick and light,

To gain the fox-holes of a neighboring height,—

Less happy in his stratagem than flight.

The cock laughed sweetly in his sleeve;—

’Tis doubly sweet deceiver to deceive.

ANACREONTIC.

[From the French of Menage.]

As, dancing o’er the enamelled plain,

The floweret of the virgin train,

My soul’s Corinna, lightly played,

Young Cupid saw the graceful maid;

He saw, and in a moment flew,

And round her neck his arms he threw,

And said, with smiles of infant joy,

“Oh! kiss me, mother, kiss thy boy!”

Unconscious of a mother’s name,

The modest virgin blushed with shame;

And, angry Cupid scarce believing

That vision could be so deceiving,

Thus to mistake his Cyprian dame,

The little infant blushed with shame.

“Be not ashamed, my boy,” I cried,

For I was lingering by his side;

“Corinna and thy lovely mother,

Believe me, are so like each other

That clearest eyes are oft betrayed,

And take thy Venus for the maid.”

THE LANDLADY’S DAUGHTER.

[From the German of Uhland.]

There came three students over the Rhine:

Dame Werter’s house they entered in:

“Dame Werter, hast thou good beer and wine

And where’s that lovely daughter of thine?”

“My beer and my wine are fresh and clear,

My daughter is lying cold on her bier.”

They stepped within the chamber of rest,

Where shrined lay the maiden, in black robes dressed.

The first he drew from her face the veil:

“Ah! wert thou alive, thou maiden so pale,”

He said, as he gazed with saddened brow,

“How dearly would I love thee now!”

The second he covered the face anew,

And, weeping, he turned aside from the view:

“Ah me, that thou liest on the cold bier,

The one I have loved for so many a year!”

The third once more uplifted the veil:

He kissed the lips so deadly pale;

“Thee loved I ever, still love I thee,

And thee will I love through eternity.”

And that kiss—that kiss—with Promethean flame

Thrilled with new life the quivering frame;

And the maid uprose, and stood by his side,

That student’s own loved and loving bride!

BLOOMING NELLY.

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day,

For summer lightly drest,

The youthful, blooming Nelly lay,

With love and sleep opprest;

When Willie, wandering through the wood,

Who for her favor oft had sued,

He gazed, he wished, he feared, he blushed,

And trembled where he stood.

Her closèd eyes, like weapons sheathed,

Were sealed in soft repose;

Her lip, still as she fragrant breathed,

It richer dyed the rose.

The springing lilies sweetly prest,

Wild-wanton, kissed her rival breast:

He gazed, he wished, he feared, he blushed,

His bosom ill at rest.

Her robes, light-waving in the breeze,

Her tender limbs embrace,

Her lovely form, her native ease,

All harmony and grace:

Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,

A faltering, ardent kiss he stole:

He gazed, he wished, he feared, he blushed,

And sighed his very soul.

As flies the partridge from the brake

On fear-inspirèd wings,

So Nelly, starting, half awake,

Away affrighted springs:

But Willie followed,—as he should;

He overtook her in the wood:

He vowed, he prayed, he found the maid

Forgiving all and good.

Burns.

BONNIE PEGGY ALISON.

CHORUS.

I’ll kiss thee yet, yet,

And I’ll kiss thee o’er again,

And I’ll kiss thee yet, yet,

My bonnie Peggy Alison!

Ilk care and fear, when thou art near,

I ever mair defy them, O!

Young kings upon their hansel throne

Are no sae blest as I am, O!

When in my arms, wi’ a’ thy charms,

I clasp my countless treasure, O!

I seek nae mair o’ heaven to share

Than sic a moment’s pleasure, O!

And by thy een, sae bonnie blue,

I swear I’m thine forever, O!

And on thy lips I seal my vow,

And break it shall I never, O!

Burns.

DINNA KISS AFORE FOLK.

[An old Scotch song.]

Behave yoursel’ afore folk,

And dinna be sae rude to me

As kiss me sae afore folk.

It’s no through hatred o’ a kiss

That I sae plainly tell you this;

But ah! I tak’ it sae amiss

To be sae teased afore folk.

Behave yoursel’ afore folk;

When we’re alane, ye may tak’ ane,

But ne’er a ane afore folk.

Ye tell me that my face is fair;

It may be sae,—I dinna care,—

But ne’er again gar ’t blush sae sair

As ye hae dune afore folk.

Ye tell me that my lips are sweet:

Sic tales, I doubt, are a deceit;

At any rate, it’s hardly meet

To pree their sweets afore folk.

But, gin you really do insist

That I should suffer to be kissed,

Gae get a license frae the priest,

And mak’ me yours afore folk;

Behave yourself afore folk,

And when we’re ane, baith flesh and bane,

Ye may tak’ ten afore folk.

DON JUAN AND HAIDEE.

They looked up to the sky, whose floating glow

Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright;

They gazed upon the glittering sea below,

Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight;

They heard the waves splash, and the wind so low,

And saw each other’s dark eyes darting light

Into each other—and, beholding this,

Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss;

A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and love,

And beauty, all concentrating like rays

Into one focus, kindled from above;

Such kisses as belong to early days,

When heart, and soul, and sense, in concert move,

And the blood’s lava, and the pulse a blaze,

Each kiss a heart-quake,—for a kiss’s strength,

I think, it must be reckoned by its length.

By length I mean duration; theirs endured

Heaven knows how long—no doubt they never reckoned;

And if they had, they could not have secured

The sum of their sensations to a second:

They had not spoken; but they felt allured,

As if their souls and lips each other beckoned,

Which being joined, like swarming bees they clung—

Their hearts the flowers from whence the honey sprung.

Byron.

THE FIRST KISS OF LOVE.

Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,

Those tissues of falsehood which folly has wove!

Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,

Or the rapture that dwells on the first kiss of love!

Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with phantasy glow,

Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove,

From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow,

Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love!

If Apollo should e’er his assistance refuse,

Or the Nine be disposed from your service to rove,

Invoke them no more; bid adieu to the muse,

And try the effect of the first kiss of love.

I hate you, ye cold compositions of art;

Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove,

I court the effusions that spring from the heart

Which throbs with delight at the first kiss of love.

Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes,

Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move:

Arcadia displays but a region of dreams:

What are visions like these to the first kiss of love?

Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth,

From Adam till now, has with wretchedness strove:

Some portion of Paradise still is on earth,

And Eden revives in the first kiss of love.

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past,—

For years fleet away with the wings of the dove,—

The dearest remembrance will still be the last,

Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.

Byron.

TEACHER AND PUPIL.

Give me, my love, that billing kiss

I taught you one delicious night,

When, turning epicures in bliss,

We tried inventions of delight.

Come, gently steal my lips along,

And let your lips in murmurs move;

Ah, no!—again—that kiss was wrong:

How can you be so dull, my love?

“Cease, cease!” the blushing girl replied,—

And in her milky arms she caught me;

“How can you thus your pupil chide?

You know ’twas in the dark you taught me!”

Moore.

THINE AT LAST.

Grow to my lip, thou sacred kiss,

On which my soul’s beloved swore

That there should come a time of bliss

When she would mock my hopes no more;

And fancy shall thy glow renew,

In sighs at morn, and dreams at night,

And none shall steal thy holy dew

Till thou’rt absolved by rapture’s rite.

Sweet hours that are to make me blest,

Oh! fly, like breezes, to the goal,

And let my love, my more than soul,

Come panting to this fevered breast;

And while in every glance I drink

The rich o’erflowings of her mind,

Oh! let her all impassioned sink,

In sweet abandonment resigned,

Blushing for all our struggles past,

And murmuring, “I am thine at last!”

Moore.

JULIA’S KISS.

When infant Bliss in roses slept,

Cupid upon his slumber crept,

And, while a balmy sigh he stole,

Exhaling from the infant’s soul,

He smiling said, “With this, with this

I’ll scent my Julia’s burning kiss!”

Nay, more: he stole to Venus’ bed,

Ere yet the sanguine flush had fled

Which Love’s divinest, dearest flame

Had kindled through her panting frame.

Her soul still dwelt on memory’s themes,

Still floated in voluptuous dreams;

And every joy she felt before

In slumber now was acting o’er.

From her ripe lips, which seemed to thrill

As in the war of kisses still,

And amorous to each other clung,

He stole the dew that trembling hung,

And smiling said, “With this, with this

I’ll bathe my Julia’s burning kiss!”

Moore.

TO A LADY ON HER TRANSLATION OF VOITURE’S “KISS.”

“Mon âme sur ma lèvre était lors tout entière,

Pour savourer le miel qui sur la vôtre était;

Mais en me retirant, elle resta derrière,

Tant de ce doux plaisir l’amorce l’arrêtoit!”

Voiture.

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.