KISS XI.
Some think my kisses too luxurious told,
Kisses, they say, not known to sires of old:
But, while entranced on thy soft neck I lie,
And o’er thy lips in tender transport die,
Shall I then ask, dear life, perplexed in vain,
Why rigid cynics censure thus my strain?
Ah, no! thy blandishments so rapturous prove
That every ravished sense is lost in love:
Blest with those blandishments, divine I seem,
And all Elysium paints the blissful dream.
Neæra heard,—then, smiling, instant threw
Around my neck her arm of fairest hue,
And kissed me fonder, more voluptuous far,
Than Beauty’s queen e’er kissed the god of War:
“What (cries the nymph)! and shall my amorous bard
Pedantic wisdom’s stern decree regard?
Thy cause must be at my tribunal tried:
None but Neæra can the point decide.”
