Some never know just what it is to love;
 They think they do, of course, for we all do.
 And maybe we're not wrong; yet many find
 A day comes when just what I'm speaking of
 Seems more than merely just-a-little-true:
 And that to "what love is" we had been blind.

 Though we can't know what others think, or feel,
 Through empathy, with its imperfect view
 Our souls escape, and can be less confined.
 This makes us, with some caution, a great deal
 More kind.