GROW to my lip, thou sacred kiss, On which my soul's beloved swore That there should come a time of bliss, When she would mock my hopes no more; And fancy shall thy glow renew, In sighs at morn, and dreams at night, And none shall steal thy holy dew Till thou'rt absolved by rapture's rite. Sweet hours that are to make me blest, Oh! fly, like breezes, to the goal, And let my love, my more than soul, Come panting to this fever'd breast; And while in every glance I drink The rich o'erflowings of her mind, Oh! let her all impassion'd sink, In sweet abandonment resign'd, Blushing for all our struggles past, And murmuring, "I am thine at last!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RIVER by RALPH WALDO EMERSON FOR YOU O DEMOCRACY by WALT WHITMAN THE GODODDIN: CONAN by ANEIRIN THE TRUIMPH OF ART by JOSEPHINE TURCK BAKER IMPROVEMENT IN THE FORTIES by THOMAS BARNARD MON REPOS (MY MOTHER'S GIRLHOOD HOME) by ALFRED BARRETT A MOTHER'S DREAM by MATHILDE BLIND |