A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/A Kiss
A KISS
SHE kissed me when she said good-bye—
A child's kiss, neither bold nor shy.
We had met but a few short summer hours;
Talked of the sun, the wind, the flowers,
Sports and people; had rambled through
A casual catchy song or two,
And walked with arms linked to the car
By the light of a single misty star.
(It was war-time, you see, and the streets were dark
Lest the ravishing Hun should find a mark.)
And so we turned to say good-bye;
But somehow or other, I don't know why,
Perhaps t'was the feel of the khaki coat
(She'd a brother in Flanders then) that smote
Her heart to a sudden tenderness
Which issued in that swift caress—
Somehow, to her, at any rate
A mere hand-clasp seemed inadequate;
And so she lifted her dewy face
And kissed me—but without a trace
Of passion,—and we said good-bye . . .
A child's kiss. . . . neither bold nor shy.
My friend, I like you—it seemed to say—
Here's to our meeting again some day!
Some happier day . . .
Good-bye.
August 1916.