The Poetical Works of Robert Browning | ||
She sings.
I
The moth's kiss, first!Kiss me as if you made believe
You were not sure, this eve,
How my face, your flower, had pursed
Its petals up; so, here and there
You brush it, till I grow aware
Who wants me, and wide ope I burst.
II
The bee's kiss, now!Kiss me as if you entered gay
69
A bud that dares not disallow
The claim, so all is rendered up,
And passively its shattered cup
Over your head to sleep I bow.
The Poetical Works of Robert Browning | ||