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Love Poem No. 41

The Kiss

Of all the fancies, tell me this:

What is this thing we call a kiss?

I shall tell you what it is......

It is a creature born and bred

Between the lips all cherry red,

By love and warmth desires fed,

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,

And stills the bride too, when she cries.

Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear.

It frisks, it flies, - now here, now there,

It is now far off, and then it's near,

And there, and there, and everywhere.

Has it a speaking virtue? - Yes.

How speaks it, say? - Do you but this:

Part your joined lips, - then speak your kiss,

And this, love's sweet language is.

Has it body? - Yes, and wings.

With a thousand rare encolorings

And as it flies it gently sings,

Love, Honey yields, but never stings.

Peter Harmon

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