Whose memory often cheers,
And sheds through clouds a radiance bright,
In scenes of after-years.
When sorrows o’er the bosom roll,
Who hath not felt a bliss
Spread swiftly through the glowing soul
Beneath a magic kiss?
ПЯТЬ ДВАЖДЫ.
“Papa, the bell’s a-ringin’
For church—an’ mus’ you go?
And I was been a-bringin’
Your boots an’ fings for you.
And that’s all I’m a-good for,
Jus’ cos’ to love you some,
And here’s my bestest hood, for
To meet you comin’ home.
“Now jus’ I want you kiss me
Afore you goes away,
’Cause maybe you might miss me—
Bein’ to church all day.
Now I’m ‘your little mices,’
To creep up on your knee;
’F you’ll kiss me all five twices,
Why—then—I’ll—let you be.”[12]
So climbs “my little mices”
Up on my willing knees,
And takes her full “five twices”
As oft as doth her please;
The while that I am drinking
Kiss-cups of purest bliss,
And, dreamy-joyous, thinking,
Was ever love like this?
Yet, mid my fond caressing,
I mind the time of old
When little ones, for blessing,
The Christ-arms did enfold.
And so I tell the story
Unto my little maid,—
How our Good Lord of Glory,
While here with us he stayed,
Would take the little children
Up on his friendly knee,
The while his kindness filled them
With fearless, gentle glee.
Then, soft and sweetly laying
His dear hand on their head,
They knew that he was praying,—
They heard the prayer he said!
And so, her blue eyes deeping,
Upon her head I lay
My hand, while, moved to weeping,
Unto the Lord I say,
“O loving, gracious Father,
Bless this dear babe, I pray,
And with thy people gather
My child, at that great day.”
Bathed in a holy beauty,
The little maid slips down,
And I to “higher duty”
The chiming summons own.
But childhood’s quaint devices
Once more must needs appear:
“Did he kiss ’em all five twices?”
Is the last word I hear!
Nutting.
ДЕТСКИЕ СТИШКИ.
What is to me the sweetest thing
That the morning light can bring?
It is this,—
My mother’s kiss.
And, if gentle watch she’ll keep,
What gives me the sweetest sleep?
Only this,—
My mother’s kiss.
Nothing else so dear can be,
Nothing brings such joy to me,
As does this,—
My mother’s kiss.
Then, if I’m a pleasant child,
Kind, obedient, and mild,
I’ll have this,—
My mother’s kiss.
Kiss me quick, my baby boy,—
Mother’s darling, mother’s joy!
Beat the little drum no more;
Let the horse lie on the floor.
Do not move a foot or hand;
Kiss me, kiss me, where you stand,
Through the chair while I am kneeling,
And the flies look from the ceiling.
That’s a noble little boy!
Mother’s darling, mother’s joy!
’Twas a kiss well worth the getting;
Kissing better is than fretting.
A kiss when I wake in the morning,
A kiss when I go to bed,
A kiss when I burn my fingers,
A kiss when I bump my head.
A kiss when my bath is over,
A kiss when my bath begins;
My mamma is full of kisses,
As full as nurse is of pins.
A kiss when I play with my rattle,
A kiss when I pull her hair;
She covered me over with kisses
The day I fell from the stair.
A kiss when I give her trouble,
A kiss when I give her joy:
There’s nothing like mamma’s kisses
For her own little baby-boy.
РАПСОДИИ.
I.
You kissed me, my head dropped low on your breast,
With a feeling of shelter and infinite rest,
While the holy emotion my tongue dared not speak
Flushed up like a flame from my heart to my cheek!
Your arms held me fast! Oh, your arms were so bold!
Heart responded to heart in that passionate fold!
Your glances seemed drawing my soul through mine eyes,
As the sun draws the mist from the sea to the skies.
And your lips clung to mine till I prayed, in my bliss,
They might never unclasp from that rapturous kiss!
You kissed me! my heart and my breast and my will
In delicious delight for the moment stood still!
Life had for me then no temptations, no charms,
No vista of pleasure outside of your arms!
And were I this moment an angel possessed
Of the glory and peace that belong to the blest,
I would cast my white robes unrepiningly down,
And tear from my forehead its beautiful crown,
To nestle once more in that haven of rest,
With your lips pressed to mine, and my head on your breast!
You kissed me! my soul in a bliss so divine
Reeled and swooned like a man that is drunken with wine!
And I thought, ’twere delicious to die then, if death
Would come while my lips were still moist with your breath!
’Twere delicious to die, if my heart might grow cold
While your arms wrapped me fast in that passionate hold!
And these are the questions I ask day and night:
Must my life taste but once such exquisite delight?
Would you care if my breast were your shelter as then?
And if I were there would you kiss me again?
II.
You kissed me: your arms round my neck were entwined,
As the vine to the oak clings when pressed by the wind;
Your breath, zephyr-like from some lone balmy isle,
Shed a fragrance that heightened the charm of your smile,
And banished all care, as the sun at mid-day
Dispels the dark clouds which obscure his bright way.
And now, as fond memory, with tints bright and rare,
Paints thy rich coral lips as Love hovers there,
I ask but one boon may be granted to me,—
That I, like the oak, may forever shield thee.
III.
You kissed me, and responsively my lips to yours were pressed,
While trembling came a long-drawn sigh deep from that throbbing breast.
Your cheeks were bathed in blushes, while those pouting lips revealed
That secret I had burned to know, yet you’d so long concealed;
You loved me. With what ecstasy did I your form embrace,
And kiss away the starting tear which marred that beauteous face!
And now when absent, darling, my thoughts revert to thee,
Thine image is reflected here, true as reality,
And ever thus it will remain, in colors pure and bright,
As a meteor in the sky, love, amid the gloom of night.
ОТРЫВКИ ИЗ ПОЭТОВ.
For would she of her gentilnesse,
Withouten more me ones kesse,
It were to me a grete guerdon.
Chaucer.
O kiss! which dost those ruddy gems impart,
Or gems, or fruits, of new-found paradise,
Breathing all bliss and sweetening to the heart,
Teaching dumb lips a nobler exercise,
O kiss! which souls, e’en souls, together ties
By links of love, and only nature’s art,
How fain would I paint thee to all men’s eyes,
Or of thy gifts, at least, shade out some part.
Sir Philip Sidney.
He her beholding, at her feet down fell,
And kissed the ground on which her sole did tread,
And washed the same with water, which did well
From his moist eyes, and like two streams proceed.
Spenser.
These poor half-kisses kill me quite:
Was ever man thus served?
Amid an ocean of delight,
For pleasure to be starved.
Drayton.
I do confess thou’rt sweet; yet find
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favors are but like the wind,
That kisseth everything that meets;
And since thou canst with more than one,
Thou’rt worthy to be kissed by none.
Sir Robert Aytoun.
I do not love thee for those soft
Red coral lips I’ve kissed so oft;
Nor teeth of pearl, the double guard
To speech, whence music still is heard;
Though from those lips a kiss being taken
Might tyrants melt, and death awaken.
Carew.
I die, dear life! unless to me be given
As many kisses as the spring hath flowers,
Or there be silver-drops in Iris’ showers,
Or stars there be in all-embracing heaven;
And if displeased you of the match remain,
You shall have leave to take them back again.
Drummond of Hawthornden.
You say I love not, ’cause I do not play
Still with your ringlets, and kiss time away;
By love’s religion, I must here confess it,
The most I love when I the least express it!
Herrick.
Love in her sunny eyes does basking play;
Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair;
Love does on both her lips forever stay,
And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there.
Cowley.
Her kisses faster, though unknown before,
Than blossoms fall on parting spring, she strewed;
Than blossoms sweeter, and in number more.
Davenant.
So cheered he his fair spouse, and she was cheered,
But silently a gentle tear let fall
From either eye, and wiped them with her hair;
Two other precious drops, that ready stood,
Each in their crystal sluice, he, ere they fell,
Kissed, as the gracious signs of sweet remorse
And pious awe, that feared to have offended.
Milton.
We were alone, quite unsuspiciously,
But oft our eyes met, and our cheeks in hue
All o’er discolored by that reading were;
But one point only wholly us o’erthrew:
When we read the long-sighed-for smile of her,
To be thus kissed by such devoted lover,
He who from me[13] can be divided ne’er
Kissed my mouth, trembling in the act all over.[14]
Dante.
Sweet pouting lip! whose color mocks the rose,
Rich, ripe, and teeming with the dew of bliss,—
The flower of Love’s forbidden fruit, which grows
Insidiously to tempt us with a kiss.
Tasso.
I felt the while a pleasing kind of smart;
The kiss went tingling to my very heart.
When it was gone, the sense of it did stay,
The sweetness cling’d upon my lips all day,
Like drops of honey loath to fall away.
Dryden.
Upon my livid lips bestow a kiss;
Oh, envy not the dead, they feel not bliss.
Dryden.
Then with great haste
I clasped my arms about her neck and waist;
About her yielding waist, and took a fouth
Of sweetest kisses frae her glowing mouth.
While hard and fast I held her in my grips,
My very saul came louping to my lips;
Sair, sair she flet wi’ me ’tween ilka smack,
But weel I kend she meant na as she spak.
Allan Ramsay.
Oh, were I made by some transforming power
The captive bird that sings within thy bower!
Then might my voice thy listening ears employ,
And I those kisses he receives enjoy.
Pope.
On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore.
Pope.
Be plain in dress, and sober in your diet;
In short, my deary, kiss me, and be quiet.
Lady Montague: Summary of Advice.
Never man before
More blest; nor like this kiss hath been another,
Nor ever beauties like, met at such closes,
But in the kisses of two damask roses.
Brown: Pastorals.
At these sweet words, how shall I tell my joy?
I called him to my side. He rose, approached,
And trembling seized the hand I proffered him,
A pledge of reconcilèd love; and, ah!
So fervent kissed it, that my very heart
Leaped in my bosom; then full many a sigh
He breathed, with sweet regards and fond caress.
Goldoni.
The kiss snatched hasty from the sidelong maid,
On purpose guardless, or pretending sleep.
Thomson: Winter.
The rose he in his bosom wore,
How oft upon my breast was seen;
And when I kissed the drooping flower,
Behold, he cried, it blooms again!
Cowper.
Soft child of love, thou balmy bliss,
Inform me, O delicious kiss!
Why thou so suddenly art gone,
Lost in the moment thou art won?
Wolcot.
I ken’t her heart was a’ my ain;
I loved her most sincerely;
I kissed her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o’ barley.
Burns.
Her lips, more than the cherries bright,
A richer dye has graced them;
They charm th’ admiring gazer’s sight,
And sweetly tempt to taste them.
Burns.
Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow,
Sae bonnie blue her een, my dearie;
Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou’;
The mair I kiss she’s aye my dearie.
Burns.
I’ll pu’ the budding rose when Phœbus peeps in view,
For it’s like a baumy kiss o’ her sweet bonnie mou’;
The hyacinth for constancy, wi’ its unchanging blue—
And a’ to be a posie to my ain dear May.
Burns.
A man may drink and not be drunk;
A man may fight and not be slain;
A man may kiss a bonnie lass
And aye be welcome back again.
Burns.
Her head upon my throbbing breast,
She, sinking, said, “I’m thine forever!”
While many a kiss the seal imprest
The sacred vow we ne’er should sever.
Burns.
Gin a body meet a body
Coming through the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?
Gin a body meet a body
Coming through the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need the world ken?
Burns.
How delicious is the winning
Of a kiss at Love’s beginning,
When two mutual hearts are sighing
For the knot there’s no untying!
Campbell.
That’s hallowed ground—where, mourned and missed,
The lips repose our love has kissed.
...
A kiss can consecrate the ground
Where mated hearts are mutual bound.
Campbell.
The kiss that would make a maid’s cheek flush
Wroth, as if kissing were a sin,
Amid the Argus eyes and din
And tell-tale glare of noon,
Brings but a murmur and a blush,
Beneath the modest moon.
Campbell.
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature’s daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
Wordsworth.
Ah, happy she! to ’scape from him whose kiss
Had been pollution unto aught so chaste;
Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss,
And spoiled her goodly lands to gild his waste,
Nor calm domestic peace had ever deigned to taste.
Byron.
How shall I bear the moment, when restored
To that young heart where I alone am lord,
When from those lips, unbreathed upon for years,
I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears,
And find those tears warm as when last they started,
Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted!
Moore: Lalla Rookh.
One dear glance,
Like those of old, were heaven! whatever chance
Hath brought thee here, oh, ’twas a blessed one!
There—my loved lips—they move—that kiss hath run
Like the first shoot of life through every vein,
And now I clasp her, mine, all mine again.
Moore: Lalla Rookh.
Though high that tower, that rock-way rude,
There’s one who, but to kiss thy cheek,
Would climb the untrodden solitude
Of Ararat’s tremendous peak,
And think its steeps, though dark and dread,
Heaven’s pathways, if to thee they led!
Moore: Lalla Rookh.
Oh, think what the kiss and the smile must be worth,
When the sigh and the tear are so perfect in bliss,
And own, if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.
Moore: Lalla Rookh.
The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
Scott: Marmion.
Oh, lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
Shelley.
Then press, with warm caresses,
Close lips, and bridal kisses,
Your steel;—cursed be his head,
Who fails the bride he wed.
Koerner: Sword Song.
Around the glowing hearth at night
The harmless laugh and winter tale
Go round, while parting friends delight
To toast each other o’er their ale;
The cotter oft with quiet zeal
Will musing o’er his Bible lean;
While in the dark the lovers steal
To kiss and toy behind the screen.
Clare: December.
Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck,
So soft and so white, without freckle or speck,
And he looked in her eyes that were beaming with light,
And he kissed her sweet lips—don’t you think he was right?
“Now, Rory, leave off, sir, you’ll hug me no more;
That’s eight times to-day that you’ve kissed me before.”
“Then here goes another,” says he, “to make sure,
For there’s luck in odd numbers,” says Rory O’Moore.
Lover.
Grief with vain passionate tears hath wet
The hair, shedding gleams from thy pale brow yet;
Love with sad kisses unfelt hath prest
Thy meek-dropt eyelids and quiet breast;
And the glad Spring, calling out bird and bee,
Shall color all blossoms, fair child, but thee.
Mrs. Hemans.
She wiped the death-damps from his brow,
With her pale hands and soft,
Whose touch upon the lute-chords low
Had stilled his heart so oft.
She spread her mantle o’er his breast,
She bathed his lips with dew,
And on his cheeks such kisses pressed
As hope and joy ne’er knew.
Mrs. Hemans.
Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief! who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in.
Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I’m growing old, but add—
Jenny kissed me!
Leigh Hunt.
I classed and counted once
Earth’s lamentable sounds,—the well-a-day,
The jarring yea and nay,
The fall of kisses upon senseless clay.
Mrs. Browning.
There were words
That broke in utterance—melted in the fire;
Embrace, that was convulsion; then a kiss,
As long and silent as the ecstatic night,
And deep, deep shuddering breaths, which meant beyond
Whatever could be told by word or kiss.
Mrs. Browning.
First time he kissed me, but he only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And, ever since, it grew more clear and white,
Slow to world greeting; quick with its “Oh, list!”
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst,
I could not wear it plainer to my sight
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead; and half missed.
Falling upon my hair. Oh, 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!”
Mrs. Browning.
He will kiss me on the mouth
Then; and lead me as a lover
Through the crowds that praise his deeds.
Mrs. Browning.
Love feareth death! I was no child—I was betrothed that day;
I wore a troth-kiss on my lips I could not give away.
Mrs. Browning.
Kiss, baby, kiss! mothers’ lips shine by kisses;
Choke the warm breath that else would fall in blessings;
Black manhood comes, when turbulent guilty blisses
Tend thee the kiss that poisons ’mid caressings.
Charles Lamb.
Both our mouths went wandering in one way,
And, aching sorely, met among the leaves;
Our hands, being left behind, strained far away.
Wm. Morris: Defence of Guinevere.
I saw you kissing once: like a curved sword,
That bites with all its edge, did your lips lie.
Wm. Morris: Defence of Guinevere.
And with a velvet lip print on his brow
Such language as the tongue hath never spoken.
Mrs. Sigourney.
There was a beam in that young mother’s eye, ’
Lit by the feelings that she could not speak,
As from her lips a plaintive lullaby
Stirred the bright tresses on her infant’s cheek;
While now and then, with melting heart, she prest
Soft kisses o’er its red and smiling lips,—
Lips sweet as rosebuds in fresh beauty dressed
Ere the young murmuring bee their honey sips.
Mrs. Welby.
Oh, turn from me those radiant eyes,
With love’s dark lightning beaming,
Or veil the power that in them lies
To set the young heart dreaming.
...
What pity that thy lips of rose,
So fitted for heart-healing,
Should not with tenderest kisses close
The wounds thine eyes are dealing!
Motherwell.
She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed,
And then I fell gently
To sleep on her breast—
Deeply to sleep
From the heaven of her breast.
E. A. Poe.
Oh, stay, Madonna! stay;
’Tis not the dawn of day
That marks the skies with yonder opal streak;