Explore "The Kiss" by Olive Tilford Dargan on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I stole into the secret room / Where Love lay dying; / Mystic and faint perfume / Met me like sighing; / As heaven had cast a still-born star / He lay nor stirred; the shell-thin hand / Nerveless of high command / Where once the lord-veins sped their fire.
And I had thought me glad / To let him go. "He reaps / His own," I pious said. / But this, ah, this / Unpleading helplessness! / "Give me thy death," I cried, / And took it from his lips. / The windows burst them wide. / The sun came in; / And Love high at my side / Stood sovereign.