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 1 Among thy fancies, tell me this,
What is the thing we call a kiss?
2 I shall resolve ye what it is:--

It is a creature born and bred
Between the lips, all cherry-red,
By love and warm desires fed,--
And makes more soft the bridal bed.
2 It is an active flame, that flies First to the babies of the eyes, And charms them there with lullabies,-- CHOR.
And stills the bride, too, when she cries.
2 Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear, It frisks and flies, now here, now there: 'Tis now far off, and then 'tis near,-- CHOR.
And here, and there, and every where.
1 Has it a speaking virtue? 2 Yes.
1 How speaks it, say? 2 Do you but this,-- Part your join'd lips, then speaks your kiss; CHOR.
And this Love's sweetest language is.
1 Has it a body? 2 Ay, and wings, With thousand rare encolourings; And as it flies, it gently sings-- CHOR.
Love honey yields, but never stings.

Poem by Robert Herrick
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