SONNET.
(I)
KISS
Yet lighter than the gentle touch of dew
Which burdens not the fragile petalled rose
But calls upon it to unfold anew
And loose the fragrance which it does enclose;
Yet lighter than the dainty fairy tread
The honey bee does weigh upon the cup
That forms the rose when wide her petals spread
And eager is her nectar given up;
So light that you would scarcely feel them there
Is how my own on your red lips would be.
And as the rose, whose loveliness they share,
Would they then yield their sweetness up to me?
Or would my kiss but meet with icy scorn
And die - impaled upon the rose's scorn?
~ ~ ~