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Perhaps thou gav’st me, though unseen, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.

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Bliss Kissing Soul Tear Unseen Weep

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Reasoning at every step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, Whilst meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray.
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Far happier are the dead methinks than they who look for death and fear it every day.
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Ceremony leads her bigots forth, prepared to fight for shadows of no worth.
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There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.
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