LXVI
But One there is more sage in that Caress,
Raising no mawkish Pennant of Distress,
But when I tip the Osculative Brim
Accepts the Kiss in Silent Thankfulness.
LXVII
Her Lips no Questions ask - Content is hers
If her Artistic Spirit wakes and stirs,
Nor recks of those Romances Heretofore -
Engagements where I won my Brazen Spurs.
LXVIII
A Microbe lingers in a Kiss, you say?
Yes, but he nibbles in a pleasant Way.
Rather than in the Cup and Telephone
Better to catch him Kissing and be gay.
LXIX
Enough of Kisses, whose ecstatic Stuff
Endures an Age and flickers in a Puff,
That undeservèd Web of foibled Toys,
Enough - of Kisses can there be Enough?
LXX
What, then, of Him in dizzy Heights profound
Who scans the Zenith's constellated Round?
Alas! who goes ballooning to the Stars
Too often runs his Trade into the Ground.