A BALLAD OF KISSES.

There are three kisses that I call to mind, And I will sing their secrets as I go. The first, a kiss too courteous to be kind, Was such a kiss as monks and maidens know; As sharp as frost, as blameless as the snow.

The second kiss, ah God! I feel it yet, And evermore my soul will loathe the same. The toys and joys of fate I may forget, But not the touch of that divided shame: It clove my lips; it burnt me like a flame.

The third, the final kiss, is one I use Morning and noon and night; and not amiss. Sorrow be mine if such I do refuse! And when I die, be love, enrapt in bliss, Re-sanctified in Heaven by such a kiss.