One of those kisses had birthplace here—
The dew of her lips has not yet dried.
His lips have touched hers before to-night—
Then I have a grain of his to keep!
This midnight blackness is flecked with light,
Some angel is singing my soul to sleep.
He knows full well why many a knave
So close to his lady’s lips would swim—
God only knows that the kiss I gave
Was set in her mouth to give to him!