Poems About Kisses

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee!

Who shall say that Fortune grieves himWhile the star of hope she leaves him?Me, nae cheerfu’ twinkle lights me,Dark despair around benights me.

I’ll ne’er blame my partial fancy;Naething could resist my Nancy;But to see her was to love her,Love but her, and love for ever.

Had we never loved sae kindly,Had we never loved sae blindly,Never met--or never parted,We had ne’er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!Thine be ilka joy and treasure,Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee!

I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden;Thou needest not fear mine;My spirit is too deeply ladenEver to burthen thine.

I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion;Thou needest not fear mine;Innocent is the heart's devotionWith which I worship thine.

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 which 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.

O that joy so soon should waste!Or so sweet a blissAs a kissMight not for ever last!So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious,The dew that lies on roses,When the morn herself discloses,Is not so precious.O, rather than I would it smother,Were I to taste such another,It should be my wishingThat I might die with kissing.

Before you kissed me only winds of heavenHad kissed me, and the tenderness of rain -Now you have come, how can I care for kissesLike theirs again?

I sought the sea, she sent her winds to meet me,They surged about me singing of the south -I turned my head away to keep still holyYour kiss upon my mouth.

And swift sweet rains of shining April weatherFound not my lips where living kisses are;I bowed my head lest they put out my gloryAs rain puts out a star.

I am my love's and he is mine forever,Sealed with a seal and safe forevermore -Think you that I could let a beggar enterWhere a king stood before?

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,Smiles awake you when you rise.Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,And I will sing a lullaby.Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,You are care, and care must keep you.Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,And I will sing a lullaby.Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Cupid and my Campaspe play’dAt cards for kisses--Cupid paid:He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,His mother’s doves, and team of sparrows;Loses them too; then down he throwsThe coral of his lips, the roseGrowing on’s cheek (but none knows how);With these, the crystal of his brow,And then the dimple of his chin:All these did my Campaspe win.At last he set her both his eyes--She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this for thee? What shall, alas! become of me?

Soft child of love, thou balmy bliss,Inform me, O delicious kiss,Why thou so suddenly art gone,Lost in the moment thou art won?

Yet go! For wherefore should I sigh?On Delia's lips, with raptured eye,On Delia's blushing lips I seeA thousand full as sweet as thee.

Come, Chloe, and give me sweet kisses,For sweeter sure never girl gave;But why in the midst of my blisses,Do you ask me how many I'd have?I'm not to be stinted in pleasure,Then, prithee, my charmer, be kind,For whilst I love thee above measure,To numbers I'll ne'er be confined.

Count the bees that on Hybla are playing,Count the flowers that enamel its fields,Count the flocks that on Tempe are straying,Or the grain that rich Sicily yields,Go number the stars in the heaven,Count how many sands on the shore,When so many kisses you've given,I still shall be craving for more.

To a heart full of love, let me hold thee,To a heart that, dear Chloe, is thine;In my arms I'll for ever enfold thee,And twist round thy limbs like a vine.What joy can be greater than this is?My life on thy lips shall be spent!But the wretch that can number his kisses,With few will be ever content.

Rose kissed me to-day.Will she kiss me to-morrow?Let it be as it may,Rose kissed me to-dayBut the pleasure gives wayTo a savor of sorrow;--Rose kissed me to-day,--Will she kiss me to-morrow?

Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyesWhich, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe;And free access unto that sweet lip lies,From which I long the rosy breath to draw.Methinks no wrong it were, if I should stealFrom those two melting rubies one poor kiss;None sees the theft that would the thief reveal,Nor rob I her of aught that she can miss;Nay, should I twenty kisses take away,There would be little sign I had done so;Why then should I this robbery delay?O, she may wake, and therewith angry grow!Well if she do, I'll back restore that one,And twenty hundred thousand more for loan.

If only in dreams may man be fully blest,Is heaven a dream? Is she I clasped a dream?Or stood she here even now where dewdrops gleamAnd miles of furze shine golden down the West?I seem to clasp her still - still on my breastHer bosom beats, - I see the blue eyes beam: -I think she kissed these lips, for now they seemScarce mine: so hallowed of the lips they pressed!Yon thicket's breath - can that be eglantine?Those birds - can they be morning's choristers?Can this be earth? Can these be banks of furze?Like burning bushes fired of God they shine!I seem to know them, though this body of minePassed into spirit at the touch of hers!

BY a wall the stranger now calls his,Was born of old a particular kiss,Without forethought in its genesis;Which in a trice took wing on the air.And where that spot is nothing shows: There ivy calmly grows, And no one knows What a birth was there!

That kiss is gone where none can tell—Not even those who felt its spell:It cannot have died; that know we well.Somewhere it pursues its flight,One of a long procession of sounds Travelling aethereal rounds Far from earth’s bounds In the infinite.