JULIA’S KISS.
When infant Bliss in roses slept,
Cupid upon his slumber crept,
And, while a balmy sigh he stole,
Exhaling from the infant’s soul,
He smiling said, “With this, with this
I’ll scent my Julia’s burning kiss!”
Nay, more: he stole to Venus’ bed,
Ere yet the sanguine flush had fled
Which Love’s divinest, dearest flame
Had kindled through her panting frame.
Her soul still dwelt on memory’s themes,
Still floated in voluptuous dreams;
And every joy she felt before
In slumber now was acting o’er.
From her ripe lips, which seemed to thrill
As in the war of kisses still,
And amorous to each other clung,
He stole the dew that trembling hung,
And smiling said, “With this, with this
I’ll bathe my Julia’s burning kiss!”
Moore.
