PLATONIC KISSES.
“What are they?” birdie, do you ask?
Your forehead wears a puckered line,
Oh! now you’ve found a dreadful task
Even for a learnèd head like mine.
Some questions are so hard! Ah, well,
If even Plato’s self were here,
The sage, I fancy, could not tell
The riddle that you ask me, dear.