The world will say, "What mystic love is this? What ghostly mistress? What angelic friend?" Read, masters, your own passion to the end, And tell me then if I have writ amiss. When all loves die that hang upon a kiss, And must with cavil and with chance contend, Their risen selves with the eternal blend Where perfect dying is their perfect bliss. And might I kiss her once, asleep or dead, Upon the forehead or the globed eyes, Or where the gold is parted on her head, That kiss would help me on to paradise As if I kissed the consecrated bread In which the buried soul of Jesus lies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET (ON RECEIVING A LETTER INFORMING ME OF THE BIRTH OF A SON) by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE SONNET: 3 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE SONG: 1 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD LINES WRITTEN ... ONE WHO HAD WATCHED .. AMERICAN & FRENCH REVOLUTIONS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |