Poems (Forrest)/The kiss
For works with similar titles, see The kiss.
THE KISS
As purposeless as wind-blown leaves we kissed
And felt the fusion of the centuries.
Whence did it come, that whiff of orris root?
The clatter of a rapier to the floor?
The brush of lace against my pulsing throat
Where your arm pressed the riot of my blood
Back to my heart? Behind you seemed to grow
A chest with dragon feet inlaid with pearl,
A couch, with fleur-de-lis in rusted gold
Upon a pattern delicate in silk,
And oval mirrors thick with cloudy gilt
In fruits and Cupids. I could see your eyes
Blue as the sea; and yet they did not smile.
But I could feel your lips hot as the sun
On apple orchards feeding on my mouth.
You named me queen; yet, looking down, I saw
Bare feet in wooden sabots and I knew
Those feet were mine, broad, toil-hard, peasant-bred
That trod too close to earth to know the ease
Of carriage cushions and the 'broidered stool
Milady sets her satin shoon upon.
Reflected in the floor I saw the heels
Of your court slippers. They were poppy-red;
And diamond garters clipt your hose above
The finer curving of your supple limbs.
And all the while your eyes were blue and cold!
Muffled beyond the heavy silk-hung walls,
I heard a chiming bell—or did it toll
The passing of life forfeited? There seemed
A monkish chanting and the drowsy scent
Of incense swung in censers o'er a vault—
All strange to me who only knew the smell
Of hot milk spurting in a wooden pail,
The reek of kine, the sweet, wet breath of grass
And hawthorn hedges. On my clumsy shoes
I saw faint stains of fields and outdoor things.
Your red heels mocked them in their foppish grace,
As o'er the beating of responsive hearts
Your blue eyes mocked me with your mouth on mine.
And felt the fusion of the centuries.
Whence did it come, that whiff of orris root?
The clatter of a rapier to the floor?
The brush of lace against my pulsing throat
Where your arm pressed the riot of my blood
Back to my heart? Behind you seemed to grow
A chest with dragon feet inlaid with pearl,
A couch, with fleur-de-lis in rusted gold
Upon a pattern delicate in silk,
And oval mirrors thick with cloudy gilt
In fruits and Cupids. I could see your eyes
Blue as the sea; and yet they did not smile.
But I could feel your lips hot as the sun
On apple orchards feeding on my mouth.
You named me queen; yet, looking down, I saw
Bare feet in wooden sabots and I knew
Those feet were mine, broad, toil-hard, peasant-bred
That trod too close to earth to know the ease
Of carriage cushions and the 'broidered stool
Milady sets her satin shoon upon.
Reflected in the floor I saw the heels
Of your court slippers. They were poppy-red;
And diamond garters clipt your hose above
The finer curving of your supple limbs.
And all the while your eyes were blue and cold!
Muffled beyond the heavy silk-hung walls,
I heard a chiming bell—or did it toll
The passing of life forfeited? There seemed
A monkish chanting and the drowsy scent
Of incense swung in censers o'er a vault—
All strange to me who only knew the smell
Of hot milk spurting in a wooden pail,
The reek of kine, the sweet, wet breath of grass
And hawthorn hedges. On my clumsy shoes
I saw faint stains of fields and outdoor things.
Your red heels mocked them in their foppish grace,
As o'er the beating of responsive hearts
Your blue eyes mocked me with your mouth on mine.
Two modern people under God's bright stars,
Above the city, where the jangling trams
Go grating down the blocks, where brass bands blare
And flags proclaim our town makes holiday;
And that street singer, who has lost an arm
Somewhere in France, shouts an old marching song
All out of tune! Two people who have sought
Refuge in this roof-garden high above
The grimy chimneys where electric signs
Fire all the pale horizons; and there comes
From that dark corner the ripe pungency
Of Mocha coffee! Or a mild cigar
Suggests a lonely soul's philosophy!
We, parrying serious things, struck mental sparks,
Foiling each other with intention, till
A moment's silence forced the secret bar.
I looked up, you looked down; and so we kissed!
Above the city, where the jangling trams
Go grating down the blocks, where brass bands blare
And flags proclaim our town makes holiday;
And that street singer, who has lost an arm
Somewhere in France, shouts an old marching song
All out of tune! Two people who have sought
Refuge in this roof-garden high above
The grimy chimneys where electric signs
Fire all the pale horizons; and there comes
From that dark corner the ripe pungency
Of Mocha coffee! Or a mild cigar
Suggests a lonely soul's philosophy!
We, parrying serious things, struck mental sparks,
Foiling each other with intention, till
A moment's silence forced the secret bar.
I looked up, you looked down; and so we kissed!
It should have been a trifle to forget;
Yet came that fusion of the centuries
Rushing together. Did three hundred years
Give back a lost kiss that my blood still holds—
A kiss perhaps with Death the other side!
Yet came that fusion of the centuries
Rushing together. Did three hundred years
Give back a lost kiss that my blood still holds—
A kiss perhaps with Death the other side!