The Kiss

• Give me, my love, that billing kiss
• I taught you one delicious night,
• When, turning epicures in bliss,
• We tried inventions of delight.
• Come, gently steal my lips along,
• And let your lips in murmurs move,—
• Ah, no!—again—that kiss was wrong—
• How can you be so dull, my love?
• “Cease, cease!” the blushing girl replies—
• And in her milky arms she caught me—
• “How can you thus your pupil chide;
• You know 'twas in the dark you taught me!”

Auguste Rodin, The Kiss, 1886.