Besille & Robert COMPLETED

The Poem

First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of the hand wherewith I write;
And ever since, it grew more clean and white,
Slow to world greetings, quick with its “Oh list,”
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight,
Than that first kiss…

--Elizabeth Barrett-Browning

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