Each gentler pleasure of the unspotted mind,—
Day-dreams, whose tints with sportive brightness glow,
And Hope, the blameless parasite of Woe.
The eyeless chemist heard the process rise,
The streamy chalice bubbled up in sighs,
Sweet sounds transpired, as when the enamored dove
Pours the soft murmuring of responsive love.
The finished work might Envy vainly blame,
And “Kisses” was the precious compound’s name.
Coleridge.