The Litany of the Seven Kisses
I kiss thy hands-thy hands. whose fingers are delicate and the pale as the petals of the white lotus.
I kiss thy hair, which has the lustre of black jewels, and is darker than Lethe, flowering by midnight through the moonless slumber of poppy-scented lands.
I kiss thy brow, which resembles the rising moon in a valley of cedars.
I kiss thy cheeks, where lingers a faint flush, like the reflection of a rose upheld to an urn of alabaster.
I kiss thine eyelids, and liken them to the purple veined flowers and close beneath the oppression of a topic evening, in a land where the sunsets are bright as the flames of burning amber.
I kiss thy throat, whose ardent pallor is the pallor of marble warmed by the autumn sun.
I kiss thy mouth, which has the savour and perfume of fruit made moist with spray from a magic fountain, in the secret paradise that we alone shall fine; a paradise whence they that come shall nevermore depart, for the waters thereof are Lethe, and the fruit is the fruit of the tree of Life.
April 13, 1921.