Imitated from Catullus: To Ellen
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.
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