Mrs. Browning.
First time he kissed me, but he only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And, ever since, it grew more clear and white,
Slow to world greeting; quick with its “Oh, list!”
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst,
I could not wear it plainer to my sight
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead; and half missed.