FIRST time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And ever since, it grew more clean and white, Slow to world-greetings, quick with its 'Oh, list,' When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here, plainer to my sight, Than that first kiss. The second passed in height The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed, Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed! That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown, With sanctifying sweetness, did precede. The third upon my lips was folded down In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed, I have been proud and said, 'My love, my own.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE SOUL AND BODY by ANDREW MARVELL THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD by JOHN HENRY NEWMAN ADLESTROP by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS AGAMEMNON: THE PURPLE CARPER by AESCHYLUS PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 95, 96. AL-AZALI, AL-BAKI by EDWIN ARNOLD BLACKMWORE MAIDENS by WILLIAM BARNES A CHAUNT IN PRAISE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 32. EXHORTING HER TO PATIENCE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |