Poetry Tuesday: Kissing Her Hair

This would not be my first, second or third choice as far as parts to kiss, but I guess everyone’s got a fetish. . .

By Algernon Charles Swinburne:

Kissing her hair, I sat against her feet,
Wove and unwove it–wound, and found it sweet;
Made fast therewith her hands, drew down her eyes,
Deep as deep flowers and dreamy like dim skies;
With her own tresses bound and found her fair,
Kissing her hair.

Sleep were no sweeter than her face to me,
Sleep of cold sea-bloom under the cold sea;
What pain could get between my face and hers?
What new sweet thing would Love not relish worse?
Unless, perhaps, white death had kissed me there,
Kissing her hair.

;o)

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