I scanned two lines with some surmise As over Keats I chanced to pore: `And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four.` Says I: `Why was it only four, Not five or six or seven? I think I would have made it more,— Even eleven. `Gee! If she`d lured a guy like me Into her gelid grot I`d make that Belle Dame sans Merci Sure kiss a lot. `Them poets have their little tricks; I think John counted kisses for, Not two or three or five or six To rhyme with "sore."`SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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