Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire,A million scarce would quench desire; Still would I steep my lips in bliss, And dwell an age on every kiss; Nor then my soul should sated be, Still would I kiss and cling to thee: Nought should my kiss from thine dissever, Still would we kiss and kiss for ever; E'en though the numbers did exceedThe yellow harvest's countless seed; To part would be a vain endeavour: Could I desist?--ah! never--never.
"Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score;Then to that twenty, add a hundred more:A thousand to that hundred: so kiss on,To make that thousand up a million.Treble that million, and when that is done,Let's kiss afresh, as when we first begun."
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