Speaking and Kissing

The air, which thy smooth voice doth break,
Into my soul like lightning flies;
My life retires whilst thou dost speak,
And thy soft breath its room supplies.

Lost in this pleasing ecstasy,
I join my trembling lips to thine;
And back receive that life from thee,
Which I so gladly did resign.

Forbear, Platonic fools, t' inquire
What numbers do the soul compose!
No harmony can life inspire,
But that which from these accents flows.