  WHEN lovers’ lips from kissing disunite With sound as soft as mellow fruitage breaking, They loathe to leave what was so sweet in taking, So fraught with breathless magical delight; The scent of flowers is long before it fade, Long dwells upon the gale the Vesper-tone, Far floats the wake the lightest skiff has made, The closest kiss when once imprest, is gone; What marvel, then, that each so closely kisseth? Sweet is the fourfold touch—the living seal— What marvel then, with sorrow each dismisseth This thrilling pledge of all they hope and feel? While on their lingering steps the shadows steal, And each true heart beats as the other wisheth. |
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