A Ballad Of Kisses.

I.

    There are three kisses that I call to mind,
    And I will sing their secrets as I go.
    The first, a kiss too courteous to be kind,
    Was such a kiss as monks and maidens know;
    As sharp as frost, as blameless as the snow.


II.

    The second kiss, ah God! I feel it yet,
    And evermore my soul will loathe the same.
    The toys and joys of fate I may forget,
    But not the touch of that divided shame:
    It clove my lips; it burnt me like a flame.


III.

    The third, the final kiss, is one I use
    Morning and noon and night; and not amiss.
    Sorrow be mine if such I do refuse!
    And when I die, be love, enrapt in bliss,
    Re-sanctified in Heaven by such a kiss.

Eric Mackay

Eric Mackay, born on June 1, 1851, was a noted English poet whose work gained recognition in the late 19th century. He is best known for his sonnets and lyrical poetry, which were celebrated for their emotional depth and technical mastery. His most famous work, 'Love Letters of a Violinist,' was well-received during his lifetime. Mackay's contributions to English literature have been acknowledged for their artistic merit. He passed away on June 8, 1898.

Eric Mackay

Remorse.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

A Prayer For Light.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

Il Ponte D'Aviglio. (Italian Poems)

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

Ex Tenebra.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Mirage.

I.

                'Tis a legend of a lover,
                'Tis a ballad to be sung,
                In the gloaming, - under cover, -
                By a minstrel who is young;
    By a singer who has passion, and who sways us with his tongue.


II.

                I, who know it, think upon it,
                Not unhappy, tho' in tears,
                And I gather in a sonnet
                All the glory of the years;
    And I kiss and clasp a shadow when the substance disappears.


III.

                Ah! I see her as she faced me,
                In the sinless summer days,
                When her little hands embraced me,
                And I saddened at her gaze,
    Thinking, Sweet One! will she love ...

Eric Mackay

Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter IV. Yearnings.



Letter IV. Yearnings.


I.

    The earth is glad, I know, when night is spent,
    For then she wakes the birdlings in the bowers;
    And, one by one, the rosy-footed hours
    Start for the race; and from his crimson tent
    The soldier-sun looks o'er the firmament;
    And all his path is strewn with festal flowers.


II.

    But what his mission? What the happy quest
    Of all this toil? He journeys on his way
    As Cæsar did, unbiass'd by the sway
    Of maid or man. His goal is in the west.
    Will he unbuckle there, a...

Eric Mackay

Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter III. Regrets.



Letter III. Regrets.


I.

    When I did wake, to-day, a bird of Heaven,
    A wanton, woeless thing, a wandering sprite,
    Did seem to sing a song for my delight;
    And, far away, did make its holy steven
    Sweeter to hear than lute-strings that are seven;
    And I did weep thereat in my despite.


II.

    O glorious sun! I thought, O gracious king,
    Of all this splendour that we call the earth!
    For thee the lark distils his morning mirth,
    But who will hear the matins that I sing?
    Who will be glad to greet ...

Eric Mackay

For A Picture By Rose Cecil O'Neil

Kisses are long forgotten of this twain,
    Kisses and words - the sweet small prophecies
That run before the Lord of Love: the fain
    Touch of the hand, and feasting of the eyes,
All tendrilled sweets that blossom at the door
    Of the stern doom, whose ecstacy is this -
    The end of all small speech of word or kiss,
And whose strange name is Love - and one name more.

One is this twain past power of speech to tell,
    Each lost in each, and each for ever found;
Drained is the cup that holds both heaven and hell;
    Peace deep as peace of those divinely drowned
    In leagues of moonlit water wraps them round,
And it is well with them - yea! it is well.

Richard Le Gallienne

Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter VIII. A Vision.



Letter VIII. A Vision.


I.

    Yes, I will tell thee what, a week ago,
    I dreamt of thee, and all the joy therein
    Which I conceiv'd, and all the holy din
    Of throbbing music, which appear'd to flow
    From room to room, as if to make me know
    The power thereof to lead me out of sin.


II.

    Methought I saw thee in a ray of light,
    This side a grove - a dream within a dream -
    With eyes of tender pleading, and the gleam
    Of far-off summers in thy tresses bright;
    And I did tremble at the gracious sig...

Eric Mackay

The Phantom Kiss

One night in my room, still and beamless,
With will and with thought in eclipse,
I rested in sleep that was dreamless;
When softly there fell on my lips

A touch, as of lips that were pressing
Mine own with the message of bliss--
A sudden, soft, fleeting caressing,
A breath like a maiden's first kiss.

I woke-and the scoffer may doubt me--
I peered in surprise through the gloom;
But nothing and none were about me,
And I was alone in my room.

Perhaps 't was the wind that caressed me
And touched me with dew-laden breath;
Or, maybe, close-sweeping, there passed me
The low-winging Angel of Death.

Some sceptic may choose to disdain it,
Or one feign to read it aright;
Or wisdom may seek to explain it--
This mystical kiss in the n...

Paul Laurence Dunbar