My baby's lips can reach my hand, O baby, baby mine; They steal the sting from reprimand And contravene each stern command, I'm helpless, for I can't withstand Those lips, O baby mine. Your rosy lips were made to kiss, O baby, baby mine; But not my hand as armistice When punished for some deed remiss, Though when you win, to lose is bliss, Kiss on, O baby mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE CHILD by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE COMING OF SNOW by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE FALL by HAYDEN CARRUTH THREE SONNETS by RICHARD WILBUR SUNSET by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |