It were to me a grete guerdon.
Chaucer.
O kiss! which dost those ruddy gems impart,
Or gems, or fruits, of new-found paradise,
Breathing all bliss and sweetening to the heart,
Teaching dumb lips a nobler exercise,
O kiss! which souls, e’en souls, together ties
By links of love, and only nature’s art,
How fain would I paint thee to all men’s eyes,