When we read the long-sighed-for smile of her,
To be thus kissed by such devoted lover,
He who from me[13] can be divided ne’er
Kissed my mouth, trembling in the act all over.[14]
Dante.
Sweet pouting lip! whose color mocks the rose,
Rich, ripe, and teeming with the dew of bliss,—
The flower of Love’s forbidden fruit, which grows
Insidiously to tempt us with a kiss.