Query any poem you want.

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.