Among thy fancies, tell me this,
What is the thing we call a kiss?
I shall resolve ye what it is:—
It is a creature born and bred
Between the lips, all cherry-red,
By love and warm desires fed,—
CHOR. And makes more soft the bridal bed.
It is an active flame, that flies
First to the babies of the eyes,
And charms them there with lullabies,—
CHOR. And stills the bride, too, when she cries.
Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear,
It frisks and flies, now here, now there:
'Tis now far off, and then 'tis near,—
CHOR. And here, and there, and every where.
Has it a speaking virtue?
Yes.
How speaks it, say?
Do you but this,—
Part your join'd lips, then speaks your kiss;
CHOR. And this Love's sweetest language is.
Has it a body?
Ay, and wings,
With thousand rare encolourings;
And as it flies, it gently sings—
CHOR. Love honey yields, but never stings.
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Comments
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I don't feel the 'CHOR' needs to be in there, whether it is in meaning of 'Chorus' or not - it just doesn't laps well with the rhythm and sort of takes it away.
The repetition is somewhat good, it kind of drags a bit, but, overall it is a lovely piece.
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