 | The poetical works of the late Thomas Little [i.e. Thomas Moore] |  |
113
JULIA'S KISS.
When infant Bliss in roses slept,
Cupid upon his slumber crept;
And while a balmy sigh he stole
Exhaling from the infant's soul,
He smiling said, “With this, with this
“I'll scent my Julia's burning kiss!”
Cupid upon his slumber crept;
And while a balmy sigh he stole
Exhaling from the infant's soul,
He smiling said, “With this, with this
“I'll scent my Julia's burning kiss!”
Nay more; he stole to Venus' bed,
Ere yet the sanguine flush had fled,
Which Love's divinest dearest flame
Had kindled through her panting frame.
Her soul still dwelt on memory's themes,
Still floated in voluptuous dreams;
And every joy she felt before
In slumber now was acting o'er.
From her ripe lips, which seem'd to thrill
As in the war of kisses still,
And amorous to each other clung,
He stole the dew that trembling hung,
And smiling said, “With this, with this
“I'll bathe my Julia's burning kiss!”
Ere yet the sanguine flush had fled,
Which Love's divinest dearest flame
Had kindled through her panting frame.
Her soul still dwelt on memory's themes,
Still floated in voluptuous dreams;
And every joy she felt before
In slumber now was acting o'er.
From her ripe lips, which seem'd to thrill
As in the war of kisses still,
116
He stole the dew that trembling hung,
And smiling said, “With this, with this
“I'll bathe my Julia's burning kiss!”
| The poetical works of the late Thomas Little [i.e. Thomas Moore] | |