University of Virginia Library


240

XLVIII. THE TEAR.

There is a sweet salt in thy kisses, Dear!
That dwells upon the lips like ocean-foam
Dropp'd from the whirling airs: what wandering tear
Hath left the palace of its orbed home;
Straying from crystal, over wan carnation,
Unto thy rich mouth's curving almandine,
Where half its dew is minister'd to mine
In our fix'd greeting's balmy implication?
Be it the herald of a tempest-shower,
Enclouded in the heaven of thy heart;
Or but a summer-drop, which the warm power
Of love doth to the air of sighs impart;
Like a true Bacchant will I drink it up,
Keeping my mad lips glued upon the cup!