Classic Poem

UNNUMBERED KISSES .

How many kisses showered on thee
Were plenty and to spare for me?

Oh, count the Libyan sands that girt
Cyrene, land of laserwort,
From horrid Ammon's voice of doom
To hoary Battus' holy tomb.

Count stars at hush of night that spy
When lovers meet clandestinely.

So many kisses plenty were
For fond Catullus and to spare,
Beyond the count of prying eyes
Or evil tongues' malignities!