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.