Your too-soft lips are too too soft, I swear.

How can it be that I still be from kissing there?

That first sweet touch was—-air, then, liquid sun,

And yet a cooling warmth, or warming cool

Swept up through me, or down, and in sweet pool

Of bliss I did not faint, but almost did.

Oh, tomorrow, tomorrow, keep them hid;

Let me not even see, or I may die!

Oh, tomorrow tomorrow, come you fast!

For I would still be kissing while I last!

O torture delicious! O temptress divine!

My star-eyed lover whose days are all mine!