First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand were with i write;
And ever since, it gre more clean and white,
Slow to world greetings, quick with its "oh, list,"
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear hear, plainer to my sight,
Then that first kiss. The second pass'd in height
The first and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. Oh, beyond meed!
That was the chirsm of love, wihch love's own crown,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when indeed,
I have been proud, and said, "My love, my own!"
By: Elisabeth Burrett Browning
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