<h2>XXXVIII</h2>
<p>First time he kissed me, he but only kissed<br/>
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;<br/>
And ever since, it grew more clean and white.<br/>
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its “O, list,”<br/>
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst<br/>
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight,<br/>
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height<br/>
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,<br/>
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!<br/>
That was the chrism of love, which love’s own crown,<br/>
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede<br/>
The third upon my lips was folded down<br/>
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,<br/>
I have been proud and said, “My love, my own.”</p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />
1 of 2
2 of 2
Previous
Next
Update Required
To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.