Its amorous tendrils loves to twine;
As round the oak, in many a maze,
The ivy flings its gadding sprays;
Couldst thou, Neæra, thus enlace
My neck with clinging close embrace;
If thine with such tenacious hold
My arms, Neæra, could enfold,
And nought could those sweet bonds dissever,
But we cling on and kiss forever;
Then, Ceres, Bacchus, sleep, adieu!
Good friends, I’d ask no more of you.
Oh, not for these, my love, oh, no,
Would I thy vermil lips forego;
But, lost in kisses never ending,
Our lives in mutual bliss expending,
One bark should waft our spirits o’er,
United, to the Stygian shore:
Then, passing through a transient night,
We’d enter soon those fields of light,
Where, breathing richest odors round,
A spring eternal paints the ground;
Where heroes, once in valor proved,
And beauteous heroines, once beloved,
Again with mutual passion burn,
Feel all their wonted flames return,
And now in sportive measures tread
The flowery carpet of the mead,
Now sing the jocund, tuneful tale,
Alternate in the myrtle vale,
Where ceaseless zephyrs fan the glade,
Soft-murmuring through the laurel shade;
Beneath whose waving foliage grow
The violet sweet of purple glow,
The daffodil that breathes perfume,
And roses of immortal bloom:
Where Earth her gifts spontaneous yields,
Nor ploughshare cuts the unfurrowed fields.
Soon as we entered these abodes
Of happy souls, of demi-gods,
The blest would all respectful rise,
And view us with admiring eyes;
Would seat us ’mid the immortal throng,
Where I, renowned for tender song,
A poet’s and a lover’s praise,
At once should claim and gain the bays;
While thou, enthroned above the rest,
Shouldst shine in Beauty’s train confest:
Nor should the mistresses of Jove
Such partial honors disapprove;
E’en Helen, though of race divine,
Would to thy charms her rank resign.
KISS III.
“One little kiss, sweet maid!” I cry,
And round my neck your arms you twine!
Your luscious lips of crimson dye
With rapturous haste encounter mine.
But quick those lips my lips forsake,
With wanton, tantalizing jest;
So starts some rustic from the snake
Beneath his heedless footstep prest.
Is this to grant the wished-for kiss?
Ah! no, my love,—’tis but to fire
The bosom with a transient bliss,
Inflaming unallayed desire.
KISS IV.
’Tis not a kiss you give, my love!
’Tis richest nectar from above!
A fragrant shower of balmy dews,
Which thy sweet lips alone diffuse!
’Tis every aromatic breeze,
That wafts from Afric’s spicy trees;
’Tis honey from the osier hive,
Which chymist bees with care derive
From all the newly-opened flowers
That bloom in Cecrops’ roseate bowers,
Or from the breathing sweets that grow
On famed Hymettus’ thymy brow:
But if such kisses you bestow,
If from your lips such raptures flow,
Thus blest, supremely blest by thee,
Ere long I must immortal be;
Must taste on earth those joys that wait
The banquets of celestial state.
Then cease thy bounty, dearest fair!
Such precious gifts then spare! oh, spare!
Or, if I must immortal prove,
Be thou immortal too, my love!
For, should the heavenly powers request
My presence at the ambrosial feast,
Nay, should they Jove himself dethrone,
And yield to me his radiant crown,
I’d scorn it all, nor would I deign
O’er golden realms of bliss to reign,
Jove’s radiant crown I’d scorn to wear,
Unless thou might’st such honors share;
Unless thou too, with equal sway,
Might’st rule with me the realms of day.
KISS V.
While tenderly around me cast
Your arms, Neæra, hold me fast,
And hanging o’er, to view confest
Your neck and gently-heaving breast,
Down on my shoulders soft decline
Your beauties more than half divine,
With wandering looks that o’er me rove,
And fire the melting soul with love:
While you, Neæra, fondly join
Your little pouting lips with mine,
And frolic bite your amorous swain,
Complaining soft if bit again,
And sweetly murmuring pour along
The trembling accents of your tongue,
Your tongue, now here, now there that strays,
Now here, now there delighted plays,
That now my humid kisses sips,
Now wanton darts between my lips;
And on my bosom raptured lie,
Venting the gently-whispered sigh,
A sigh that kindles warm desires,
And kindly fans life’s drooping fires;
Soft as the zephyr’s breezy wing,
And balmy as the breath of spring:
While you, sweet nymph! with amorous play,
In kisses suck my breath away;
My breath with wasting warmth replete,
Parched by my breast’s contagious heat;
Till, breathing soft, you pour again
Returning life through every vein;
Thus soothe to rest my passion’s rage,
Love’s burning fever thus assuage:
Sweet nymph! whose breath can best allay
Those fires that on my bosom prey,
Breath welcome as the cooling gale
That blows when scorching heats prevail:
Then, more than blest, I fondly swear,
“No power can with Love’s power compare!
None in the starry court of Jove
Is greater than the god of Love!
If any can yet greater be,
Yes, my Neæra! yes, ’tis thee!”
KISS VI.
Two thousand kisses of the sweetest kind,
’Twas once agreed, our mutual love should bind;
First from my lips a rapturous thousand flowed,
Then you a thousand in your turn bestowed;
The promised numbers were fulfilled, I own,
But love sufficed with numbers ne’er was known!
Who thinks of counting every separate blade
Upon the meadow’s verdant robe inlaid?
Who prays for numbered ears of ripening grain,
When lavish Ceres yellows o’er the plain?
Or to a scanty hundred would confine
The clustering grapes, when Bacchus loads the vine?
Who asks the guardian of the honeyed store
To grant a thousand bees, and grant no more?
Or tells the drops, while o’er some thirsty field
The liquid stores are from above distilled?
When Jove with fury hurls the moulded hail,
And earth and sea destructive storms assail,
Or when he bids, from his tempestuous sky,
The winds unchained with wasting horror fly,
The god ne’er heeds what harvests he may spoil,
Nor yet regards each desolated soil:
So, when its blessings bounteous heaven ordains,
It ne’er with sparing hand the good restrains;
Evils in like abundance too it showers;
Well suits profusion with immortal powers!
Then, since such gifts with heavenly minds agree,
Shed, goddess-like, your blandishments on me;
And say, Neæra! for that form divine
Speaks thee descended of ethereal line,—
Say, goddess! than that goddess lovelier far
Who roams o’er ocean in her pearly car,—
Your kisses, boons celestial, why withhold,
Or why by scanty numbers are they told?
Still you ne’er count, hard-hearted maid, those sighs
Which in my laboring breast incessant rise;
Nor yet those lucid drops of tender woe
Which down my cheeks in quick succession flow.
Yes, dearest life! your kisses number all;
And number, too, my sorrowing tears that fall:
Or, if you count not all the tears, my fair,
To count the kisses sure you must forbear.
But let your lips now soothe a lover’s pain,
(Yet griefs like mine what soothings shall restrain!)
If tears unnumbered pity can regard,
Unnumbered kisses must each tear reward.
KISS VII.
Kisses told by hundreds o’er,
Thousands told by thousands more,
Millions, countless millions, then,
Told by millions o’er again,
Countless as the drops that glide
In the ocean’s billowy tide,
Countless as yon orbs of light
Spangled o’er the vault of light,
I’ll with ceaseless love bestow
On those cheeks of crimson glow,
On those lips so gently swelling,
On those eyes such fond tales telling.
But when circled in thy arms,
As I’m panting o’er thy charms,
O’er thy cheeks of rosy bloom,
O’er thy lips that breathe perfume,
O’er thine eyes so sweetly bright,
Shedding soft expressive light,—
Then, nor cheeks of rosy bloom,
Nor thy lips that breathe perfume,
Nor thine eyes’ expressive light,
Bless thy lover’s envious sight;
Nor that soothing smile, which cheers
All his tender hopes and fears:
For, as radiant Phœbus streams
O’er the globe with placid beams,
Whirling through the ethereal way
The fiery-axled car of day,
And from the tempestuous sky
While the rapid coursers fly,
All the stormy clouds are driven
Which deformed the face of heaven
So thy golden smile, my fair,
Chases every amorous care;
Dries the torrents of mine eyes;
Calms my fond, tumultuous sighs.
Oh! how emulous the strife
’Twixt my lips and eyes, sweet life!
Of thy charms are these possest,
Those are envious till they’re blest:
Think not, then, that in my love
I’ll be rivalled e’en by Jove,
When such jealous conflicts rise
’Twixt my very lips and eyes.
KISS VIII.
Ah! what ungoverned rage, declare,
Neæra, too capricious fair,
What unrevenged, unguarded wrong,
Could urge thee thus to wound my tongue?
Perhaps you deem the afflictive pains
Too trifling, which my heart sustains,
Nor think enough my bosom smarts
With all the sure, destructive darts
Incessant sped from every charm,
That thus your wanton teeth must harm,
Must harm that little tuneful thing,
Which wont so oft thy praise to sing,
What time the morn has streaked the skies,
Or evening’s faded radiance dies,
Through painful days consuming slow,
Through lingering nights of amorous woe.
This tongue, thou know’st, has oft extolled
Thy hair in shining ringlets rolled;
Thine eyes with tender passion bright;
Thy swelling breast of purest white;
Thy taper neck of polished grace;
And all the beauties of thy face;
Beyond the lucid orbs above,
Beyond the starry throne of Jove;
Extolled them in such lofty lays
That gods with envy heard the praise.
Oft has it called thee every name
Which boundless rapture taught to frame;
My life! my joy! my soul’s desire!
All that my wish could e’er require!
My pretty Venus! and my love!
My gentle turtle! and my dove!
Till Cypria’s self with envy heard
Each partial, each endearing word.
Say, beauteous tyrant! dost delight
To wound this tongue in wanton spite?
Because, alas! too well aware
That every wrong it yet could bear
Ne’er urged it once in angry strain
Of thy unkindness to complain;
But, suffering patient all its harms,
Still would it sing thy matchless charms,
Sing the soft lustre of thine eye,
Sing thy sweet lips of rosy dye,
Nay, still those guilty teeth ’twould sing,
Whence all its cruel mischiefs spring:
E’en now it lisps in faltering lays,
While yet it bleeds, Neæra’s praise:
Thus, beauteous tyrant! you control,
Thus sway my fond, enamored soul!
KISS IX.
Cease thy sweet, thy balmy kisses;
Cease thy many-wreathèd smiles;
Cease thy melting, murmuring blisses;
Cease thy fond, bewitching wiles:
On my bosom soft reclined,
Cease to pour thy tender joys;
Pleasure’s limits are confined,
Pleasure oft repeated cloys.
Sparingly your bounty use;
When I ask for kisses nine,
Seven at least you must refuse,
And let only two be mine;
Yet let these be neither long,
Nor delicious sweets respire,
But like those which virgins young
Artless give their aged sire:
Such as, with a sister’s love,
Beauteous Dian may bestow
On the radiant son of Jove,
Phœbus of the silver bow.
Tripping light with wanton grace,
Now my lips disordered fly,
And in some retired place
Hide thee from my searching eye.
Each recess I’ll traverse o’er
Where I think thou liest concealed;
Every covert I’ll explore,
Till my wanton’s all revealed:
Then, in sportive, amorous play,
Victor-like I’ll seize my love;
Seize thee as the bird of prey
Pounces on a trembling dove.
Captive then, and sore dismayed,
How you’ll fondle, how you’ll plead,
Vainly offering, silly maid,
Seven sweet kisses to be freed!
Not so fast, fair runaway!
Kisses seven times seven be mine!
Chained within these arms you stay
Till I touch the balmy fine.
Paying then the forfeit due,
By your much-loved beauties swear,
Faults like these you’ll still pursue,
Faults which kisses can repair.
KISS X.
In various kisses various charms I find,
For changeful fancy loves each changeful kind:
Whene’er with mine thy humid lips unite,
Then humid kisses with their sweets delight;
From ardent lips so ardent kisses please,
For glowing transports often spring from these.
What joy! to kiss those eyes that wanton rove,
Then catch the glances of returning love;
Or clinging to the cheek of crimson glow,
The bosom, shoulder, or the neck of snow;
What pleasure! tender passion to assuage,
And see the traces of our amorous rage
On the soft neck or blooming cheek exprest,
On the white shoulder, or still whiter breast!
’Twixt yielding lips, in every thrilling kiss,
To dart the trembling tongue,—what matchless bliss!
Inhaling sweet each other’s mingling breath,
While Love lies gasping in the arms of Death!
While soul with soul in ecstasy unites,
Entranced, impassioned, with the fond delights
From thee received, or given to thee, my love!
Alike to me those kisses grateful prove;
The kiss that’s rapid, or prolonged with art,
The fierce, the gentle, equal joys impart:
But mark! be all my kisses, beauteous maid,
With different kisses from thy lips repaid;
Then varying rapture shall from either flow,
As varying kisses either shall bestow:
And let the first who with an unchanged kiss
Shall cease to thus diversify the bliss,
Observe, with looks in meek submission dressed,
That law by which this forfeiture’s expressed:
“As many kisses as each lover gave,
As each might in return again receive,
So many kisses from the vanquished side
The victor claims, so many ways applied.”
KISS XI.
Some think my kisses too luxurious told,
Kisses, they say, not known to sires of old:
But, while entranced on thy soft neck I lie,
And o’er thy lips in tender transport die,
Shall I then ask, dear life, perplexed in vain,
Why rigid cynics censure thus my strain?
Ah, no! thy blandishments so rapturous prove
That every ravished sense is lost in love:
Blest with those blandishments, divine I seem,
And all Elysium paints the blissful dream.
Neæra heard,—then, smiling, instant threw
Around my neck her arm of fairest hue,
And kissed me fonder, more voluptuous far,
Than Beauty’s queen e’er kissed the god of War:
“What (cries the nymph)! and shall my amorous bard
Pedantic wisdom’s stern decree regard?
Thy cause must be at my tribunal tried:
None but Neæra can the point decide.”
KISS XII.
Modest matrons, maidens, say,
Why thus turn your looks away?
Frolic feats of lawless love,
Of the lustful powers above,
Forms obscene that shock the sight,
In my verse I ne’er recite,—
Verse where naught indecent reigns;
Guiltless are my tender strains,
Such as pedagogues austere
Might with strict decorum hear,
Might, with no licentious speech,
To their youth reproachless teach.
I, chaste votary of the Nine,
Kisses sing of chaste design.
Maids and matrons yet, with rage,
Frown upon my blameless page,—
Frown, because some wanton word
Here and there by chance occurred,
Or the cheated fancy caught
Some obscure though harmless thought.
Hence, ye prudish matrons! hence,
Squeamish maids devoid of sense!
And shall these in virtue dare
With my virtuous maid compare,—
She who in the bard will prize
What she’ll in his lays despise?
Wantonness with love agrees,
But reserve in verse must please.
KISS XIII.
With amorous strife exanimate I lay;
Around your neck my languid arm I threw;
My trembling heart had just forgot to play,
Its vital spirit from my bosom flew;—
The Stygian lake, the dreary realms below,
To which the sun a cheering beam denies,
Old Charon’s boat, slow-wandering to and fro,
Promiscuous passed before my swimming eyes,—
When you, Neæra! with your humid breath
O’er my parched lips the deep-fetched kiss bestowed
Sudden my fleeting soul returned from death,
And freightless hence the infernal pilot rowed.
Yet soft,—for, oh, my erring senses stray;—
Not quite unfreighted to the Stygian shore
Old Charon steered his lurid bark away:
My plaintive shade he to the Manes bore.
Then, since my soul can here no more remain,
A part of thine, sweet life, that loss supplies!
But what this feeble fabric must sustain,
If of thy soul that part its aid denies!
And much I fear; for, struggling to be free,
Oft from its new abode it fain would roam;
Oft seeks, impatient to return to thee,
Some secret pass to gain its native home.
Unless thy fostering breath retards its flight,
It now prepares to quit this falling frame:
Haste, then; to mine thy clinging lips unite,
And let one spirit feed each vital flame,
Till, after frequent ecstasies of bliss,
Mutual, unsating to the impassioned heart,
From bodies thus conjoined, in one long kiss,
That single life which nourished both shall part.
KISS XIV.
Those tempting lips of scarlet glow
Why pout with fond, bewitching art?
For to those lips, Neæra, know,
My lips shall not one kiss impart.
Perhaps you’d have me greatly prize,
Hard-hearted fair, your precious kiss;
But learn, proud mortal, I despise
Such cold, such unimpassioned bliss.
Think’st thou I calmly feel the flame
That all my rending bosom fires,
And patient bear, through all my frame,
The pangs of unallayed desires?
Ah, no!—but turn not thus aside
Those tempting lips of scarlet glow;
Nor yet avert, with angry pride,
Those eyes, from whence such raptures flow!
Forgive the past, sweet-natured maid;
My kisses, love, are all thy own:
Then let my lips to thine be laid,
To thine, more soft than softest down.
KISS XV.
The Idalian boy, to pierce Neæra’s heart,
Had bent his bow, had chose the fatal dart;
But when the child, in wonder lost, surveyed
That brow, o’er which your sunny tresses played,
Those cheeks, that blushed the rose’s warmest dye,
That streamy languish of your lucid eye,
That bosom, too, with matchless beauty bright
(Scarce Cypria’s own could boast so pure a white),
Though mischief urged him first to wound my fair,
Yet partial fondness urged him now to spare.
But, doubting still, he lingered to decide;
At length, resolved, he flung the shaft aside,
Then sudden rushed impetuous to thy arms,
And hung voluptuous on thy heavenly charms:
There as the boy in wanton folds was laid,
His lips o’er thine in varied kisses played;
With every kiss he tried a thousand wiles,
A thousand gestures, and a thousand smiles;
Your inmost breast with Cyprian odors filled,
And all the myrtle’s luscious scent instilled:
Lastly, he swore by every power above,
By Venus’ self, the potent Queen of Love,
That you, blest nymph, forever should remain
Exempt from amorous care, from amorous pain.
What wonder, then, such balmy sweets should flow
In every grateful kiss your lips bestow?
What wonder, then, obdurate maid, you prove
Averse to all the tenderness of love?
KISS XVI.
Bright as Venus’ golden star,
Fair as Dian’s silver car,
Nymph with every charm replete,
Give me hundred kisses sweet;
Then as many kisses more
O’er my lips profusely pour,
As the insatiate bard could want,
Or his bounteous Lesbia grant;
As the vagrant Loves that stray
On thy lips’ nectareous way;
As the dimpling Graces spread
On thy cheeks’ carnationed bed;
As the deaths thy lovers die;
As the conquests of thine eye,
Or the cares and fond delights
Which its changeful beam incites;
As the hopes and fears we prove,
Or the impassioned sighs, in love;
As the shafts by Cupid sped,
Shafts by which my heart has bled;
As the countless stores that still
All his golden quiver fill.
Whispered plaints, and wanton wiles,
Speeches soft, and soothing smiles,
Teeth-imprinted, tell-tale blisses,
Intermix with all thy kisses.
So, when zephyr’s breezy wing
Wafts the balmy breath of spring,
Turtles thus their loves repeat,
Fondly billing, murmuring sweet,
While their trembling pinions tell
What delights their bosoms swell.
Kiss me, press me, till you feel
All your raptured senses reel;
Till your eyes, half closed and dim,
In a dizzy transport swim,
And you murmur faintly, “Grasp me,
Swooning, in your arms, oh, clasp me.”
In my fond sustaining arms
I will hold your drooping charms;
While the long, life-teeming kiss
Shall recall your soul to bliss;
And, as thus the vital store
From my humid lips I pour,
Till, exhausted with the play,
All my spirit wastes away,
Sudden, in my turn, I’ll cry,
“Oh, support me, for I die.”
To your fostering breast you’ll hold me,
In your warm embrace enfold me,
While your breath, in nectared gales,
O’er my sinking soul prevails,
While your kisses sweet impart
Life and rapture to my heart.
Thus, when youth is in its prime,
Let’s enjoy the golden time;
For when smiling youth is past,
Age these tender joys shall blast:
Sickness, which our bloom impairs,
Slow-consuming, painful cares,
Death, with dire remorseless rage,
All attend the steps of age.
[Illustration]
THE KISS IN DRAMATIC LITERATURE.
SELECTIONS FROM SHAKSPEARE.
So full of valor that they smote the air
For breathing in their faces; beat the ground
For kissing of their feet; yet always bending
Towards their project.
_Tempest_, iv. 1.
* * * * *
Fie, fie! how wayward is this foolish love,
That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse,
And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod.
_Two Gentlemen of Verona_, i. 2.
* * * * *
Why, then we’ll make exchange; here, take you this,
And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.
_Two Gentlemen of Verona_, ii. 2.
* * * * *
She shall be dignified with this high honor,—
To bear my lady’s train; lest the base earth
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss.
_Two Gentlemen of Verona_, ii. 4.
* * * * *
The current that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know’st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage;
But, when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with th’ enameled stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage.
_Two Gentlemen of Verona_, ii. 7.
* * * * *
_Falstaff._ Her husband, dwelling in a continual ’larum of jealousy,
comes me in the instant of our encounter, after we had embraced, kissed,
protested, and, as it were, spoke the prologue of our comedy.
_Merry Wives_, iii. 5.
* * * * *
What is love? ’tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What’s to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty,
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.
_Twelfth Night_, ii. 3.
* * * * *
Take, oh, take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn;
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but sealed in vain.
_Measure for Measure_, ii. 1.
* * * * *
_Benedict._ Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.
_Beatrice._ Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul
breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.
_Much Ado_, v. 2.
* * * * *
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?
Crystal is muddy. Oh, how ripe in show
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
That pure congealèd white, high Taurus’ snow,
Fanned with the eastern wind, turns to a crow
When thou hold’st up thy hand: Oh, let me kiss
This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!
_Midsummer Night’s Dream_, iii. 2.
* * * * *
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows.
_Love’s Labor Lost_, iv. 3.
* * * * *
Why, this is he
That kissed away his hand in courtesy;
——the ladies call him, sweet;
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet.
_Love’s Labor Lost_, v. 2.
* * * * *
Why, that’s the lady; all the world desires her;
From the four corners of the earth they come,
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint.
_Merchant of Venice_, ii. 7.
* * * * *
Some there be that shadows kiss;
Some have but a shadow’s bliss.
_Merchant of Venice_, ii. 9.
* * * * *
The moon shines bright. In such a night as this,
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,
And they did make no noise——
_Merchant of Venice_, v. 1.
* * * * *
If you be well pleased with this,
And hold your fortune for your bliss,
Turn you where your lady is,
And claim her with a loving kiss.
_Merchant of Venice_, iii. 2.
* * * * *
_Rosalind._ His very hair is of the dissembling color.
_Celia._ Something browner than Judas’: marry, his kisses are Judas’ own
children.
_R._ I’ faith, his hair is of a good color.
_C._ An excellent color: your chestnut was ever the only color.
_R._ And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread.
_C._ He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter’s
sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in
them.
_As You Like It_, iii. 4.
* * * * *