KISS IV.
’Tis not a kiss you give, my love!
’Tis richest nectar from above!
A fragrant shower of balmy dews,
Which thy sweet lips alone diffuse!
’Tis every aromatic breeze,
That wafts from Afric’s spicy trees;
’Tis honey from the osier hive,
Which chymist bees with care derive
From all the newly-opened flowers
That bloom in Cecrops’ roseate bowers,
Or from the breathing sweets that grow
On famed Hymettus’ thymy brow:
But if such kisses you bestow,
If from your lips such raptures flow,
Thus blest, supremely blest by thee,
Ere long I must immortal be;
Must taste on earth those joys that wait
The banquets of celestial state.
Then cease thy bounty, dearest fair!
Such precious gifts then spare! oh, spare!
Or, if I must immortal prove,
Be thou immortal too, my love!
For, should the heavenly powers request
My presence at the ambrosial feast,
Nay, should they Jove himself dethrone,
And yield to me his radiant crown,
I’d scorn it all, nor would I deign
O’er golden realms of bliss to reign,
Jove’s radiant crown I’d scorn to wear,
Unless thou might’st such honors share;
Unless thou too, with equal sway,
Might’st rule with me the realms of day.
