Poems / To the poet Douglas Ainslie

To the poet Douglas Ainslie

                                       When first you kissed my finger tips.

                                       Although my heart was glad.

                                       No answering smiles come to my lips.

                                       Which drooped wan [?] and sad.

                                       My mind would then the question ask

                                       Why should this strange thing be?

                                       Found the puzzling quite a task

                                       But this it seemed to me

                                       The kiss you gave my finger tips

                                       Was envied by my amorous lips.