I grow so weary, someway, of all things
That love and loving have vouchsafed to me,
Since now all dreamed-of sweets of ecstasy
Am I possessed of: The caress that clings
The lips that mix with mine with murmurings
No language may interpret, and the free,
Unfettered brood of kisses, hungrily
Feasting in swarms on honeyed blossomings
Of passion's fullest flowerFor yet I miss
The essence that alone makes love divine
The subtle flavoring no tang of this
Weak wine of melody may here define:
A something found and lost in the first kiss
A lover ever poured through lips of mine.
The Lost Thrill
written byJames Whitcomb Riley
© James Whitcomb Riley